


something human in the chaos

by SydneyHorses



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anal Sex, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26787730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyHorses/pseuds/SydneyHorses
Summary: After a defeat at Fhirdiad leaves all of them scrambling to escape, Felix has to grapple with several things: almost dying, a war, his feelings for the Boar, what those feelings could mean, and the fact that he and his friends have landed themselves into something even they can't talk their way out of: piracy,
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 33
Kudos: 81
Collections: Dimilix Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my work for the Dimilix Big Bang! It was inspired by a lifelong love of pirates, and was an absolute joy to work on! I had a truly amazing artist to work with - you can check out their work on twitter @shit_anuyan and see the amazing art for this fic [here!](https://twitter.com/edelgardlesbian/status/1312436265820712960?s=20)

It’s a miracle they manage to escape at all. 

Felix thinks he should be thankful for that, huddled on the deck of the _Areadbhar_ with everyone else. Dimitri hadn’t wanted to retreat, but they had no other choice. There were simply too many of them, and the Professor and Edelgard cut imposing figures at the head of the army.

Rodrigue was the one who had gotten them out. Felix had never had much love for his father, but he was certainly loyal and he’d certainly known when to quit. He’d sent men ahead to man the sails on the _Areadbhar_ , and the eight of them had managed to escape by the skin of their teeth.

They’d sailed away from Fhirdiad with the sounds of gunfire echoing behind them. Felix doesn’t know what fate befell his father, but he doubts it’s a good one. He’d be happy to know that the only surviving member of the Blaidyyd line still lives, although Dimitri has barely said a word since they’ve left.

Felix supposes that none of that matters much any more.

Now, the only thing that matters is keeping one eye pointed towards the horizon and the other back from whence they came.

Felix stands at the stern, watching the place where Fhirdiad used to be. Dedue is at the helm behind him, guiding them, keeping them safe as he always has. Felix will never understand how he has stuck with Dimitri for all these long years.

Then again, Felix has never understood why he himself stays with Dimitri. There must be something about him that inspires such loyalty. If only he knew what it was.

On the main deck, Mercedes quietly tends to Ashe’s arm, mending a particularly vicious gash from an enemy sword with careful, even stitches. Ashes hadn’t cried over the wound at all, not even now that it’s getting stitched closed. Felix is impressed, although he doesn’t know why he’s at all surprised. During the war, Ashe never cried from any of his injuries, even after getting shot.

Felix supposes he should stop talking about the war as if it’s still happening. It’s pretty obvious they’ve lost. Edelgard and her army are surely swarming over Fhirdiad by now. 

“Lost in thought, eh?”

Sylvain’s voice startles him out of his thoughts, and Felix turns. His best friend stands behind him, looking a little roughed up but no noticeably worse for wear.

Felix keeps one hand on the railing of the ship, some part of him still pointing towards Fhirdiad. “I wanted a moment to myself.”

“Sure.” Sylvain leans against the rail and crosses his arms. “Whatever you say.”

Felix scowls. “What do you want?”

“The kitchen’s still partially stocked. Someone made stew, it’s good. You should come eat.”

Felix glances back towards Fhirdiad one last time. It’s long since disappeared on the horizon, but if he strains his eyes he can almost imagine it there once more. He didn’t think he would miss it so. “Fine.” He follows Sylvain down to the main deck and lets himself be drawn into the circle of his friends. 

He sits on the deck next to a barrel, and Mercedes pauses in her work to shoot him a soft smile. Annette brings him a bowl of stew and he eats it greedily, the warmth seeping into his bones and soothing some ache inside of him.

Sylvain claps Felix on the shoulder once he’s gotten his food. “I should go check on Ingrid.” His voice sounds rough, strained. This is wearing on him as well. “She’s still crying over her horse.”

Poor Ingrid. Felix can’t understand it, but that doesn’t make it any less miserable to watch. He’ll never understand that kind of care for a beast, but Ingrid had thrown her arms around her mare at the dock and sobbed into her mane. Sylvain had been the one to finally pull her away, wrapping his arms around her waist and carrying her onto the ship. She’s been huddled up in the crow’s nest ever since.

Felix nods. “Right.” Sylvain is still watching him with a wary look on his face. Felix glances up at him, takes in the lean look on his face. “Don’t forget to eat.”

Sylvain shoots him a tight, thin smile. It’s not much, but it’s there. “Course. Thanks.”

Felix goes back to his food so he can pretend he doesn’t care. He eats quickly, fully intending to return to his position at the stern as soon as he’s done. 

A crash from the Captain’s Quarters disrupts his plans. Everyone on the deck goes quiet, Mercedes freezing in the middle of tying off a stitch. Annette has a spoonful of stew poised halfway in midair, her mouth open in a near perfect ‘O.’

Another crash sounds, louder this time.

Felix sighs and gets to his feet. He doesn’t particularly want to speak with Dimitri, but it’s not like anyone else will. Dedue would, if he weren’t the one steering the boat at the moment, but the others all have their own tasks to attend to. Felix halts outside the oaken door and squares his shoulders. 

He opens the door without knocking and shuts it quickly behind him. Dimitri stands hunched over his desk, his hands braced against it. He’s silhouetted against the window, and he still looks like the King he’s meant to be. His desk is clear, a pile of books and other knick knacks in a heap on the floor next to it.

“Your Highness.” There’s scorn dripping from Felix’s lips like blood, and he scowls at the sight of Dimitri.

“Don’t call me that,” Dimitri’s voice is rough and jagged, but it’s the first thing Felix has heard him say since he gave the order to retreat.

Felix swallows. “Fine. The others want some semblance of guidance.”

“There are no orders,” Dimitri says. “I’m not your king.”

“Fine,” Felix snaps, “then be our captain.”

Dimitri is quiet for a long time. Felix leans up against the wall, one hand resting on his sword out of habit. If Dimitri takes his stance as a threat, he doesn’t comment on it. “I don’t care where we go,” Dimitri says. “It matters not.”

“What do you want me to say?” Felix says. He means the words to come out gently, he swears it, but they bite into the air instead, harsh and cruel. He’s angry with Dimitri, but even if he wasn’t, he doesn’t know any gentle way to talk to him. When he was younger, he knew the trick for it, but it’s gone now.

“I care little what you say.” Dimitri stands and walks over to the window, his back to Felix. “I may as well have died in the attack on Fhirdiad.”

Felix swallows around the rage threatening to eat him alive. “Don’t say that. That’s not true.”

Dimitri grunts. “Why have you come.”

“I already told you.” Felix tightens his jaw and curls his fingers into the sleeve of his shirt. “The others want orders.”

The boat sways gently underneath his feet, rocking with the motion of the waves. It’s soothing, like the embrace of a mother long forgotten. Glenn had loved the sea in a sort of overwhelming way that Felix is still trying to emulate. He doesn’t know if he’s capable of loving something to that degree.

“I don’t have any orders.” Dimitri sounds almost sad about it, as though he wishes he did.

Against his will, Felix finds himself wanting to fix him. He snorts. “Sure you do. Isn’t that the point of you?”

Dimitri turns away from the window. “Do you want orders, Felix?”

He wishes he didn’t. He doesn’t want to want Dimitri to be their captain, to stand at the helm and command them properly. Felix’s mouth twists and he averts his gaze, looking away from the clear blue of Dimitri’s eye.

Dimitri tilts his head to the side and walks closer. “You do, don’t you?”

“Shut it, boar.”

Felix doesn’t leave, lets Dimitri walk over to him and stop in front of him. There’s an unsteadiness to each step, but at least he’s not throwing things anymore.

“I should thank you,” Dimitri says. “For pulling me out of there.”

There, of course, is Fhirdiad. Or, at least, what’s left of it. Felix scowls. “I did nothing of the sort.”

Dimitri is close enough to touch, although Felix doesn’t know what he would even do. As always, he’s torn between grabbing his former best friend and shaking him or bowing his head in some twisted sense of familial duty. Both options are equally as uncomfortable, and he’s paralyzed by his own feelings.

“I would not have left had you not grabbed my arm.”

Felix doesn’t want to believe that’s true. He needs Dimitri - the Boar - to not be so far gone as that. “That can’t be true. Would you have risked disappointing my father like that?”

At the mention of Lord Rodrigue, Dimitri slumps slightly. “I fear I will be a disappointment to Rodrigue no matter what I do. He would not have wanted us to cower aboard a ship like we are.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Felix snaps. “My father wanted you to live. It’s the only thing he cared about.” As always, his words are tinged by bitterness, so thick that he may as well choke on it.

“I don’t believe that’s true.” Dimitri is still so close. The proximity is setting Felix’s nerves aflame, slowly rendering him unable to think of anything but Dimitri, barely a breath away and yet as unreachable as ever. “Your father cares for you, Felix.”

Felix scowls. “Is that all you wanted to talk about? My father?”

Dimitri looks taken aback by the virulence in his voice. “Ah.” He looks at the door, fixated on a spot over Felix’s shoulder. Felix’s skin prickles as though he’s being watched, but he doesn’t turn. “I was trying to thank you.” He sounds far away, as though there’s something else more pressing on his mind.

“I don’t want your thanks.” Felix says at last. “I want you to stop cowering and be who you’re supposed to be.”

Dimitri’s eye flicks back to Felix’s face. Now that he has Dimitri’s full attention, he immediately regrets it. The force behind his eye is difficult to parse, and Felix swallows. He doesn’t, he will not, avert his eyes. “What am I supposed to be?”

Felix swallows. “A king. A captain.” There’s more he can say, but there aren’t words for it. They strangle themselves and die in his chest, never to be free of his wretched heart.

Dimitri laughs, bitter and tinged with disbelief. “There is no pleasing you, is there? You want me to be a king, you want me to wallow away in my own misery. You want orders, or you want me to leave you alone.” He rakes a hand through his hair, his expression twisted. “What do you want from me?”

It’s a stupid question. Felix hasn’t known what he wanted from Dimitri in a long time. He sighs. “I don’t care. You’re not my problem.” He turns to leave, tongue heavy with what’s been left unsaid.

“Wait,” Dimitri says. There’s enough weight to his voice and enough misplaced dedication in Felix that he listens, stopping in his tracks.

“I _am_ grateful,” Dimitri reiterates. The floorboards creak as he moves. His hand comes to grip at Felix’s wrist, warm and intimate. “Felix. Look at me.”

Felix yanks his wrist away without turning around. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Dimitri ghosts his hand down Felix’s arm, looming over him. His one remaining eye, glittering blue and sharp, narrows. “You don’t have to say a thing.”

Felix presses his lips into a thin line and nods. He doesn’t know what he’s giving Dimitri permission for.

Dimitri drops to his knees, a heavy thud against the wood of the floor. It must hurt, but Dimitri doesn’t seem to pay it any heed.

“What are you doing?” Felix snaps. 

Dimitri cocks his head to the side. “Thanking you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Felix’s face is flushed, and his heart beats traitorously fast in his chest.

Dimitri slides a hand up Felix’s thigh, resting it on his hip. “Let me.” His voice is so soft, so far from the monster that he so often sounds like. Who is Felix, to deny Dimitri when he sounds so human?

Felix nods, a quick jerk of his head, and then Dimitri is on him. He wastes no time, unlacing his pants and sliding them down his calves. It feels almost clinical, and there’s a thick feeling in Felix’s chest. He opens his mouth, although to say what, he’s not sure.

Dimitri shuffles forward and presses his mouth to the inside of Felix’s thigh, kissing him lightly. He’s not - he doesn’t know where to put his hands. “Captain,” he says, voice strained.

Dimitri hooks his fingers under the waistband of his underclothes, looking up at him. Felix meets his gaze, hoping beyond hope to find some indication of softness within his eye. Instead, there’s a burning there, colder than ice and setting Felix’s skin aflame. He shivers and averts his eyes. He doesn’t need to look at Dimitri for any of this.

He nods, his gaze fixed on a spot on the wall above Dimitri’s head.

Dimitri pulls his underclothes down, exposing him to the world. He’s still fully clothed, on his knees before him, and part of Felix enjoys that. Dimitri is his king, and Felix shouldn’t enjoy seeing him like this. Still, that, more than the thought of anything Dimitri may do, is enough to send a shiver down his spine.

“Felix?”

Felix snaps his head back down to look at Dimitri, frowning. “Stop asking questions you already know the answer to. If I wanted you to stop, I’d tell you.” He drags his line of sight back to the window behind the desk. Outside, the night is dark, and Felix can just barely see the faint reflection of the moon and the twinkling of the stars in the sky. “Get on with it.”

Dimitri chuckles, a whiff of hot air brushing over Felix’s groin. Felix tenses, unsure of how this sort of thing normally goes. “You’re so tense.” Dimitri glances up at him. “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed.” Felix snaps. “Stop talking.”

Dimitri’s mouth curves upwards. “Of course.” He presses a kiss to the junction of Felix’s hip and leg, mouthing softly at the skin there. It feels nice, and Felix feels some part of him ease. 

He puts a hand on Dimitri’s head, curling his fingers into his hair. Dimitri makes a pleased noise and noses at the base of his cock. Felix’s breath stutters, and Dimitri hums against his skin.

_Oh._ That’s different. Felix can feel the vibration, and he wants it again. Mindlessly, his hips twitch forward. Dimitri presses a kiss to his balls and draws back, looking at him with all the solemnity and severity that he used to grant royal documents.

Dimitri leans forward and presses a delicate kiss to the head of his dick, far more dainty than anything they’re about to do. “Boar,” Felix says, his lip curling. At his feet, Dimitri glances upwards, through his eyelashes. “Felix.” It sounds like reverence. It sounds like a promise.

This is a bad idea.

Dimitri licks a wet stripe up the side of his length, and Felix swears under his breath, his hand in Dimitri’s hair tightening. “Do you thank everyone like this?” He says at last, some of the sharpness leaving his voice.

Dimitri smiles and cocks his head to the side slightly. “Are you jealous?”

Felix snorts. “Of course not. It’s just not very becoming of a king.”

“Well,” Dimitri mouths at the head of his cock and Felix hisses. “I can always get up.”

Felix’s fingers curl tighter into Dimitri’s hair and he pulls him closer. “Don’t you dare.” He’s already this far, he may as well commit.

Dimitri chuckles darkly and takes Felix into his mouth. It’s - different. Than he expected. He’s had sex before, but no one’s ever done this to him. For him. He rocks his hips forward experimentally, the wet heat of Dimitri’s mouth overwhelming. “Captain,” he manages to say.

At the sound of his name, Dimitri groans, the vibrations pulsing around his length. It’s a more charged sensation, and Felix cries out, his hips jerking forward uncontrollably. He expects Dimitri to back off, but instead he redoubles his efforts, hollowing his mouth and swallowing him down like he’s some sort of delicacy. 

Felix’s mind is already giving way to white-hot pleasure, each curl of Dimitri’s tongue sending sparks shooting down his spine. “ _Boar,_ ” he hisses, and Dimitri shudders, a full body thing that Felix instantly wants to see again. Dimitri’s free hand dips down to squeeze himself through his trousers, and Felix irrationally wants to tell him not to for a moment. He wants to be the one to touch Dimitri, but no. That’s not how this is going to go.

Goddess, what is he thinking?

Dimitri’s hand dips below his waistband, and Felix watches as Dimitri strokes himself roughly in time with Felix’s careful thrusts into his mouth. Dimitri groans around the dick in his mouth - Felix’s dick in his mouth - and shudders, the hand in his pants working furiously. Felix is mesmerized, unable to tear his gaze away.

When he comes, it’s a surprise even to him, and he jerks his hips into Dimitri’s mouth with a cut off moan. It’s the loudest noise he’s made over the course of this entire, ridiculous, evening, and Dimitri answers in kind. “Boar,” he snaps, unable to, or perhaps unwilling, to say his name out loud during so intimate a moment.

Dimitri’s eye flicks up to meet his, and another noise tears itself from Felix’s throat. Dimitri pulls back and sits on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Felix wants to help him. He wants to get down on his knees next to Dimitri and knock away the hand that’s still working to bring himself to completion and do it himself. His blood sings with it, but it’s not like that between them. It can’t be.

He stuffs himself back inside his trousers and leaves without so much as a goodbye, swallowing around the suddenly sour taste in his mouth. The door slams shut behind him, and after furtively glancing around to make sure there’s no one else around, Felix lets himself fall to the ground, head in his hands.

-

“We have to make a plan.” Felix says. He knows his clothes are fine, knows there is no trace of what just transpired on him, but he still feels as though there should be something marking him as having just had his dick in Dimitri’s mouth. Something like that seems as though it should leave a brand.

“I take it your talk with Dimitri didn’t go well?” Ingrid is huddled in a blanket with Sylvain’s arm wrapped around her. Her eyes are red and puffy, and Felix feels a sting of resentment towards her. His father may be dead and he hasn’t even cried, but Goddess forbid Ingrid has to leave behind her horse.

Felix scowls at her and sits down next to Annette and Mercedes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dedue sighs and unfurls a map. He traces the coastline of the island of Faerghus until he finds Fhirdiad, then draws a line out to sea. “We’re here. We need to plan when to stop for supplies.”

Everything about stopping for supplies will be a nightmare, but it does need to happen. The sooner the stop, the better it will be. There’s no telling what Edelgard has done, and there’s doubtless already a sizable bounty on their heads. 

“We can disguise the ship,” Annette pipes up. “Edelgard and her people know what it looks like, but I doubt they will be able to have eyes in every port.”

“We need to paint over the name,” Felix says. “The _Areadbhar_ is too unusual.”

The rest of the former Blue Lions fall silent. Finally, Dedue nods, once, decisively.

Ingrid shakes her head. “We can’t. She’s the only thing we have left.”

“It’s a boat,” Felix says. “It doesn’t care what we call it.”

“She’s our home,” Ingrid says, pleading. “Felix, the _Areadbhar_ has been in the Blaidydd line for generations. We can’t desecrate that memory.”

“What memory?” Felix is so goddamn tired of all this history. They’re going to choke on it. “Will you still care about your precious legacies when we’re all dead?” He stands and looks around derisively at the others. “That’s what’s going to happen if you keep living like this.”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Sylvain stands and puts a hand on Felix’s shoulder.

Felix curls his hand into a fist. He’s sick of it all. Sick of Ingrid’s reverence for what’s long gone, sick of never having a moment’s peace on this stupid ship.

Ingrid doesn’t stand, and the knowledge that he’s far angrier than her pisses him off even more. Her and Dimitri are exactly alike. All they care for is their dead. “Glenn served on this ship,” Ingrid says. “Your father served on this ship.”

“They’re dead,” Felix snaps. “And even if they weren’t, my opinion wouldn’t be any different. Your sentimentality is going to get us all killed.” He shakes Sylvain’s hand off his shoulder and stalks above deck.


	2. Chapter 2

They’re halfway finished with breakfast when Dedue stands. He clears his throat and looks around the room, and they all fall silent accordingly. Felix doesn’t like to admit it, but Dedue is what’s keeping their ragtag little ship together at the moment. By now, Dimitri almost certainly would have driven them all to ruin.

Dimitri is the Captain, ostensibly, but there are no illusions amongst his inner circle. They all know that, if left to his own devices, he would have led them all in a useless charge against the Empire. 

Dedue clears his throat, hunched over so as not to hit his head on the low ceiling of the cabin. “We need more supplies. Our stores are not yet dire, but we must replenish them before it comes to that.”

It’s an uneasy truth, and it hangs in the air, stagnant, for a moment before anyone speaks.

“We’ll have to make a stop,” Ashe says. His green eyes dart around the room, not nervous but watching, always watching. Something about being on the ship has returned a restlessness to Ashe’s movements that Felix doesn’t understand. It’s not the sort of question he’d ask anyone, as much as he’d like to check on the other man.

“There’s a port town not too far from here.” Annette stands alone, at the back of the room, her back against a wall. Her father died recently, Felix recalls. Rodrigue could be dead too and mourning him has barely crossed his mind. For Annette though, it’s clear that Gilbert’s sacrifice weighs heavily.

It hadn’t even been for her. Just another death in the name of the Boar.

Dedue nods. “That is what I was thinking.”

“We’ll get seen,” Felix snaps. “Don’t any of you have any concern for your safety?”

Ingrid sighs. They’re still barely speaking after their argument about the _Areadbhar_ and the ‘honor’ she claims they have to pay to the dead. Felix keeps expecting to wake up and for them to have forgiven each other, but it hasn’t happened. She just needs to let go of the past, and accept that the dead care not for what the living do.

This morning, she’d sat with Mercedes at breakfast. He wishes the deliberate snub didn’t bother him, but, well. Felix is honest, at least with himself. “What else do you want us to do?” Ingrid sounds so tired. All of them do. It’s ridiculous; Felix has never been more awake.

There is, of course, another option. It hangs heavy over all their heads, the silent killer that none of them dare name: piracy.

It’s unthinkable. Even to Felix, who has so few uncrossable lines, it feels like a deathwish. Still, someone has to say it. “We don’t have to stop,” he says slowly. “We can always take what we need.”

“We’re not pirates,” Ingrid snaps. One of her hands balls into a fist, and Mercedes soothes it flat with a gentle touch.

That, more than anything, pisses Felix off even more. He’s _right,_ and Ingrid isn’t, but she’s the one that gets soothed with soft touches and platitudes. “We’re not anything anymore.” Felix stands to his full height. The ceiling is so short that he feels as though he looms over them all. “If we continue limping on like this, we’ll be dead.” He turns on his heel and stalks out of the room.

He’s hoping for some level of solitude on the upper deck, but it was a foolish wish. Members of their sad excuse for a crew bustle about, everyone working overtime to keep them moving. They know to avoid him, at least, especially when he looks like this.

Dimitri, though, is an unplanned wrinkle in his path.

He stands at the ship’s railing, his back to Felix. His coat hangs around him like a shroud, so heavy that the wind whipping through the air can barely move it. Felix remembers when Dimitri got that coat, a lifetime ago. It had been for Faerghus winters and happier times.

Now, it looks just as ruined as Dimitri himself.

Felix hates himself for it, but he walks over and stands next to the Boar. He turns slightly at the sounds of the boards creaking under Felix’s feet, regarding him with his one good eye. It’s been ingrained in Felix, at some point, to approach Dimitri on his left so as not to leave him blind.

Even when he hates him, he still wants him to be at peace. Disgusting.

“I’ve thought of you often,” Dimitri says. He doesn’t look away from the water, and Felix mimics his gaze, resting his arms on the railing and leaning forward over the edge. There’s nothing around them but water, as far as the eye can see, and something about it leaves Felix breathless. Edelgard could have killed everyone by now and they’d have no way of knowing. “Since that night.”

Heat rushes to Felix’s face, and he stares down at the water. “That night meant nothing.”

“You seemed to enjoy it well enough.” Dimitri sounds almost smug, a glint of amusement in his eye.

Felix sets his jaw. “That doesn’t matter. It won’t happen again.”

He’s thought of it too, if he’s being honest. Still, such things are meaningless. Dimitri is a beast, nothing more. No matter how lucid he seems now, it won’t last. A monster is a monster is a monster, no matter what sheepskin it wears.

He’s proven right only moments later. Dimitri quiets, the brief air of levity he’d carried vanishing into the sea. The Captain’s spine straightens, and he cocks his head to the side as though in pursuit of some distant noise.

When he speaks, his voice is rougher. It’s subtle, but Felix knows him well enough to recognize each and every one of his idiosyncrasies. “Do you hear them?”

Felix’s heart sinks. “Hear who?” 

“The dead.” Dimitri closes his eye and tips his head back. As much as Felix wants to, he can’t look away from the long, supple line of Dimitri’s throat. He could reach out and touch his pulse point, and Dimitri would let him. “They’re under the sea. Calling to me.”

The breathless feeling the ocean inspired vanishes, instead leaving Felix nauseous. “Don’t say things like that,” he snaps. “The dead are nothing. They’re gone, and never coming back. Focus on us instead.”

Dimitri turns his head to the side slowly, his eye fixed on Felix’s face. “Us?”

“The ship.” Felix swallows. “Faerghus. Our friends.”

“Of course.” Dimitri keeps looking at Felix’s face though, his eye sticking to him like a burr. 

Felix shifts. “Just… be careful. About the dead. Don’t drown yourself trying to reach them.”

Dimitri doesn’t smile much, these days. But the rage and resentment in his eye softens, and he lets loose a great sigh. “I will do my best to remember that. It is all I can promise.”

Dimitri was his friend once, a long time ago. “For now,” he retorts. “I have other business to attend to.”

For the second time that night, he stalks away from someone he cares for. Unlike earlier though, there isn’t rage simmering under his skin. He doesn’t feel content - far from it - but it’s something like acceptance.

-

If everyone had taken his suggestions just a little more seriously, perhaps he wouldn’t have ended up in this situation. Instead, Ingrid’s insistence that they stop for supplies rather than steal some had won out, and as such he’s on shore in a small port at the edge of Kleiman territory. He can’t even remember the name of the blasted place, nor does he particularly care to know.

“We’re going to get caught,” he murmurs under his breath. He has his hair down, and a hood drawn tight over his head. He hates it, he feels as though everyone around him is watching him.

They’re just travellers seeking supplies. Nothing suspicious about that. Ashe and Annette join him, and as loathe as he is to be in town at all, they’re a good group. Ashe has some experience at looking inconspicuous, and Annette is sweet enough that it’d be hard to imagine her carrying any nefarious intentions. Ingrid had fought long and hard to be permitted to go, but her bright blonde hair stands out more than Felix’s, and although she’s just as untalented at blending in, she’s louder.

“We’re not going to get caught,” Annette replies. There’s a spring to her step, which is impressive considering the circumstances. That’s Annette though, through and through.

“Especially if we stay quiet,” Ashe hisses. He’s different here. He’s been different since they left Fhirdiad. Some part of Ashe that he’s never witnessed before seems sharper, more awake.

Felix doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not.

More importantly, there are Empire soldiers here. The knowledge thrums through them all like the beat of a drum. Felix rests a hand on the hilt of his sword underneath his cloak. If they were to be noticed, it wouldn’t do much good, but it gives him comfort.

“Relax,” Ashe says. “You look like you’re about to strangle anyone who looks at you the wrong way.”

“I am,” Felix grits out.

“Well, stop it.” Annette elbows him in the side, looking as serene as ever. “We’re never going to get out of here alive with that attitude!”

She sounds positively chipper. It’s disgusting. Still, she’s right, and Felix loosens his grip on his sword. He’s not a good actor, but he tries to loosen his facial features, make himself look more like he belongs. He doubts that he succeeds, but he thinks it’s better than it was, at the very least.

Finally, they reach the first of the shops they need to stop at. The list Dedue had given them feels as though it’s burning a hole in Felix’s pocket. Food. Fresh water. Patches for the sails. More medical supplies if they can manage it, although Mercedes says they can continue on how they have been for a while longer.

Felix lets Ashe do the talking, haggling down the price of a few barrels of food while Annette looks around the storefront, a starstruck expression on her face. He had never known she was so good at pretending before. Maybe they all underestimated her and Ashe. After all, they’re the ones that have adapted the quickest to this new life.

Felix follows Annette’s lead, trailing after her. Their official story if anyone asks is that Ashe and Annette are a couple, and Felix is their bodyguard. It’s not a great story, but then again, none of this is a great plan.

Felix can feel eyes on his back, the shop’s guards carefully watching his movements. They’ve roused suspicion, which is hardly surprising. 

Ashe laughs at something the shopkeep says, and thanks him. “Netta, let’s go!”

Annette turns with a smile, the perfect picture of an obedient wife. Felix follows behind her without a word. Behind them, there’s a faint jingle of a belt loop. Felix tenses, straining to hear anything.

“...redhead...looks familiar.”

Felix’s spine goes ramrod straight. “They know,” he mutters, quiet and careful. “They know.”

Ashe glances over his shoulder, casual as anything. “We can head back now. Some food is better than nothing.”

Anette nods, the skip in her step vanishing. “We’ll just have to be fast.”

If Felix had been paranoid about eyes on them before, he’s a goner now. Every soldier’s regalia seems as though it’s dripping with blood. Every step is them coming closer to them, and as Ashe leads them through the market, whistling merrily as he goes, Felix feels his muscles coil tight.

One of the guards walks up to them, smiling amicably. “Excuse me.”

Annette turns with a brilliant smile on her face. “Yes? Is something the matter?’

The soldier rests a hand on his gun. “You match the description of some people we’re looking for.”

Annette tips her head to the side. “We do? How odd! What did they do?”

He levels a glare at the three of them. His fingers twitch, as though reaching for a weapon. “They’re wanted for conspiring in matters of treason against the Empire.”

Felix shifts his weight from one leg to the other and sets his hand back on the hilt of his sword. Ashe’s turns to look at him, biting at his lip as his eyes dart around. For the first time, Felix understands just how Ashe succeeded as a thief. 

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” Annette says. One of her hands comes up to clutch at the clasp of her cloak. She’s the very picture of innocence, so convincing that Felix has no idea how anyone could possibly suspect her of ill will.

“All the same ma’am.” The soldier inclines his head. “I’m afraid you must come with us.”

Ashe meets Felix’s eyes and nods. It’s all the signal Felix needs, and he draws his sword in one smooth motion. “Run!”

Annette breaks into a sprint as the hiss of Felix’s sword rings out, tearing off towards the dock. Ashe and Felix follow her, racing through the streets of the market without a care in the world. There’s shouts from behind them, and racing footsteps, but Felix doesn’t look back. He can’t.

It’s the same as when they fled Fhirdiad; looking back is certain death.

Felix has shot a lot of things, in his time. He’s been shot at before, he’s watched people he know get shot. But somehow, throughout it all, he’s managed to avoid being shot himself. As such, he has no frame of reference for the blinding flash of pain that shoots through him. It feels as though he’s been hit in the ribs with a plank with a sharp nail affixed to the end, and he falls to the ground from the impact.

The first cohesive thought that runs through his head after the frankly blinding flash of pain is that it hurts. It’s childish, and yet it’s the only thing he can't think. It hurts, and he doesn’t like it. He pushes himself onto his knees, shuddering at the pull of the bullet inside of him. Is this how it’s felt every time he’s shot someone? Goddess; this is why swords are the superior weapon. With those you can at least tell what’s in you.

Felix drags himself to his feet through sheer willpower alone, trembling slightly from the exertion. It hurts, and his head is already swimming, and he can hear the guards behind him. Annette, soft-hearted as she always is, doubles back and takes his hand. She’s speaking - Felix can see her mouth moving - but the words sound wholly as though they’re in a fog. It’s incomprehensible, and he shakes his head.

_“Felix!”_ Annette snaps, barely managing to penetrate his cloudy mind. “Hurry up!”

The simple order reminds Felix that he does indeed have a body, one that’s even capable of moving. Breathing feels heavy in a way that can’t be good - each breath feels as though something is grabbing him from within, pulling tight at his chest.

Felix will not die here. He’s not his father, he’s not Glenn. He’s not going to die for Dimitri, and he’s certainly not going to do it in some shitty town while trying to get supplies for their ship. He’s better than that.

That’s most of what propels him along, as Annette half-drags him back to the ship. He’s not going to inherent this cursed legacy that haunts his every step. If he dies for Dimitri, it’ll be his own fucking choice, instead of at the hands of some barely trained Empire dog.

Ashe, through some miracle, leads the two of them through the streets, Annette taking on more and more of his weight until she’s practically carrying him through the little port market. By the time they stumble aboard the ship, Felix’s heart is beating so loudly in his chest that it’s the only thing he can hear. Annette whispers something, but for the life of him he can’t make it out. Instead, he feels his heart, so quick and demanding that he’s half-convinced it’s going to give out and Annette will be dragging nothing but a corpse.

“Annie,” he mumbles, canting into her side and lolling his head to the side. His head feels so light, his face numb. He’s never been so intimately aware of his blood before, and his eyes slip closed as his vision starts to go fuzzy. “I got shot.”

-

If Felix were forced to debate the existence of an afterlife, he would stand valiantly opposed to such a concept. Death is finite. There is nothing after. If there is, and Glenn has somehow been forced to see the monster that Dimitri has turned into, then Felix truly doesn’t know what the point of any of this is.

Still, though his eyelids are impossibly heavy and his chest feels as though it’s been caught in a vice, he can still feel a thin mattress under him and the gentle rocking of a ship. 

Although, now that he’s reconsidering, he supposes an afterlife wouldn’t be quite so painful. And it is painful - his back aches, and each breath is shallow and timid, afraid to pull at a wound he still doesn’t know the full extent of.

His eyes slit open, recoiling from the bright light in the infirmary and darting around furiously. Anette is there, standing very still off to the side and clearly having been instructed not to touch anything. Her mouth falls open in shock when he meets her gaze. “He’s awake!”

As though Annette’s declaration has somehow summoned him, the door slams open. “Let me see him.”

Felix’s eyes drift back shut. It’s so much work to keep them open; it would be so much easier to just sleep instead.

“He’s resting.” Mercedes sounds firm, and he can almost picture her, standing in front of Dimitri’s hulking mass with her arms crossed.

Felix’s eyes open once more. Annette’s face lights up. 

“He’s awake,” Dimitri grits out. His voice always sounds rough these days, but right now it sounds particularly bad. Felix could cut himself to pieces on that voice, if he isn’t careful.

“Be that as it may,” Mercedes continues, “he’s still resting. I’m afraid I simply can’t let you disturb him at this time.”

“Let me see him,” Dimitri reiterates, harsher this time. There are no kings here, only beasts.

Annette turns, clasping her hands in front of her, as though in prayer. “He’s half-asleep, Captain. There’s no point to it.”

Sitting up feels an insurmountable feat, so Felix insteads lets himself languish. He keeps trying to take stock of his injury, but the pain is unlike any he’s ever felt before. Even now, when it’s supposedly better, he can feel it pulsing through him. “Annie,” he mumbles.

Instantly, Annette is at his side, smoothing his hair away from his face. “See? He’s barely conscious.”

Felix can’t see Dimitri, but he can imagine his face, and that’s almost enough. In his mind, the Boar stands tall and fierce, his teeth bared and his eyes narrowed. What does he even want with Felix, in this state?

“Leave us.” Every now and then, Felix remembers that Dimitri is a king, or at the very least the shadow of one. Such is the case now, with Felix laying in bed, partially delusional.

Annette sighs, a small thing that Felix doesn’t believe he was meant to hear. “Yes, Captain.”

Felix’s eyes drift closed as she withdraws her hand. He wants to thank her, for coming back for him, but he doesn’t know how. He’s never been good with his words, but he would likely be dead if not for her. He would have bled out on the floor of that market, news of his death broadcast throughout all the land.

Unlike his father and Glenn, it wouldn’t even be in service of anything. Just in the hopes of getting a little more food for the ship. Annette scuttles away, but hers are the only footsteps Felix hears.

“Get out,” Dimitri snaps at last. How Mercedes can stand without obeying in the face of such a direct order is a mystery, even to Felix, who has made a study out of ignoring Dimitri.

Felix finally drags himself up onto his elbows, propping himself up on them and watching the scene unfold. It hurts, but it’s better than laying there like a dead fish.

Mercedes straightens slightly, her shoulders set. “No.” She’s so small, next to Dimitri. Felix has never noticed before.

“Get out!” Dimitri roars, slamming his fist into the wall. The wood groans, but doesn’t crack, which says something about the way that he’s managing to control himself. Spittle flies from Dimitri’s mouth when he yells, but Mercedes still does not yield. Felix sits all the way up in bed, wincing at the way it pulls at its wound.

Mercedes crosses her arms. “Felix is my patient and he needs constant supervision. You may stay if you like, but I need to monitor him to ensure he’s going to make a safe recovery.”

Dimitri is panting, but Mercedes looks completely unconcerned. She brushes past him and rests a cool hand on Felix’s cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she says, “did we wake you?”

“It’s fine.” Felix says. “I feel fine. You can leave me with the Captain.”

“Are you lying?” Mercedes asks sweetly, brushing his bangs out of his face.

Felix closes his eyes. “No. Just give us five minutes.”

“I shouldn’t,” Mercedes says.

“I’m fine,” Felix repeats.

Mercedes hums to herself, “Five minutes. I suppose that would be alright.” She turns to face Dimitri. “When I say five minutes, I mean five minutes. I’ll be waiting outside the door.”

Dimitri nods slowly, and Mercedes drifts past him and closes the door to the infirmary behind her. Felix sits up a little further in bed and looks out the porthole, watching the rise and fall of the waves. Normally, looking at the sea fills him with a vague sense of peace, but today he sees it for what it truly is: a treacherous beast that would just as soon drown them as anything else.

“Felix?” Dimitri’s voice, so harsh and dangerous only a moment ago, has slipped into something softer. It reminds him of the way Dimitri looks at him after they finish whatever it is they’ve been doing. It’s not worth dwelling on.

Felix grunts, keeping his gaze fixed on the ocean.

“Felix,” Dimitri’s voice is a little lower this time, almost as if he’s trying to command him. A laughable thought. Dimitri isn’t his king anymore, is barely his captain. He steps to Felix’s bedside and sets a hand on top of his head.

“What do you want.” It’s not a question.

Dimitri’s fingernails dig into his scalp slightly, “To thank you for your bravery. To ensure that you are going to be alright.”

“My bravery was in service of the others, not you,” Felix snaps. 

Dimitri tightens his grip on Felix’s hair, pulling his head and forcing him to look Dimitri in the eye. Felix swallows, unwilling to give so easily. Whatever Dimitri sees in his face, it makes him smile, and he leans down to kiss Felix deeply. Felix sighs into Dimitri’s mouth, hating himself for wanting this so badly and hating even more his unwillingness to say exactly that.

The kiss turns passionate almost instantly, Dimitri’s tongue slipping into Felix’s mouth and his hand in his hair turning sharp and domineering. Felix arches his back up into Dimitri’s embrace, and Dimitri slips his free hand underneath Felix, pulling him up into him. It pulls at his wound something fierce, and Felix breaks away to swear, gritting his teeth at the pain.

“I apologize,” Dimitri says, setting him gently back down onto the bed.

“It’s fine,” Felix snaps. “I’m fine.”

Dimitri’s grip on his hair loosens and he strokes his fingers through it. “You look nice,” he says haltingly, “with your hair down.”

Felix scoffs, “I don’t trust any of you people near me with scissors.”

Dimitri brushes it out of his face, almost tenderly. He bends back down to kiss Felix again, gentler this time, and Felix’s sighs into his mouth. It’s everything their kiss from moments ago was not - careful, gentle, and without any expectations. It’s a reassurance as much as it is a press of their lips, and Dimitri brings a large hand up to cup his face, his thumb running feather-light over Felix’s cheekbones.

It tastes like pity.

Felix tears himself away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t want your condolences, boar,” he snaps.

“Felix-”

“It’s been five minutes.” Felix looks to the side, his gaze fixed firmly on the door. “You should leave.” Dimitri doesn’t move, keeps his hand on Felix’s face. There’s something akin to sickness brewing in Felix’s gut, and he turns back to meet Dimitri’s one shining blue eye. “Go, boar. Leave me be.”

Dimitri bows his head and withdraws his hand. “Of course. I pray for your swift recovery.”

He leaves, and Felix collapses back into the infirmary bed, a burning in his throat that he knows has nothing to do with the wound in his ribcage. Mercedes steps into the infirmary, closing the door softly behind her. “Felix? Are you alright?” She crosses the room quickly, laying a gentle hand on his forehead. Her touch is cool and steady, and there is a kind of bliss to be found in that. If he dies here, from his wounds or from Dimitri’s touch, at the very least he’ll have the gentle sound of Mercedes’ voice to sing him to sleep.

“I’m fine.”

She runs a soft hand through his hair. It feels nice, comforting like the sort of thing Glenn used to do when he was upset, and he lets himself relax into her touch. She sits down in the chair next to the bed, but her hand doesn’t falter.

“Do you want to know the particulars of your injury?” Her fingers catch on a knot in his hair, and she tsks under her breath, gently pulling it out until her hand can run unobstructed through his hair once more.

“I don’t care.”

Mercedes tsks again. “You almost died. If that bullet had been just a little to the left, it would have hit your lungs and there would have been no saving you.”

Felix lets out a single, harsh bark of laughter. “I suppose I’m lucky, then.”

“Oh, no,” Mercedes’ voice is light with amusement. “There’s nothing lucky about being shot. Or about any of our current situation, really.”

“No,” Felix agrees. “There isn’t.” It hurts to breathe, but it hurts worse to sit and do nothing at all. “When will I be back to normal?”

Mercedes’ hand hesitates. “Well. It could be some time. Like I said, you very nearly died.”

“Mercedes.”

She grimaces. “Two weeks. At the minimum. It may very well be more, especially if you don’t listen when I tell you to rest.”

Two weeks confined to this bed sound like a special kind of hell built just for him. He’s meant to do things, not waste away like some sort of pitiful creature. “You’re lying. It won’t be that long.”

Her hand goes back to stroking his hair. “I’m sorry, Felix.”

Felix swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. He wants to tell Mercedes to stop, but her touch is one of the only things keeping him cohesive at the moment.

“We can talk about something else instead.” Mercedes’ voice is soft, and Felix begrudgingly lets it settle over him like a blanket. “We could talk about him. The Captain, I mean.”

He wishes he knew how to be half the friend to her that she is to him. Such things don’t come to him naturally. 

“I don’t want to.” Felix sounds so small. He feels like a child, talking to Glenn again.

“That’s fine.” Mercedes keeps running her hand through his hair, and he tilts his head towards her to give her a better angle. She makes a soft noise of amusement, but doesn’t comment on it.

The two of them sit in silence, the ship swaying lightly beneath them. It’s become second nature to have the _Areadbhar_ underneath them. Every day the thought of returning to land feels a little less possible. Would Glenn have felt the same way?

“I wish I hated him.” Felix says at last.

Mercede’s hand pauses for a moment, and then continues. “What do you mean?”

“It would be easier if I did.” He doesn’t look at Mercedes as he speaks.

“I don’t think it would be.” Mercedes says, voice quiet. “I think it would just be sad.”

There are no more words in the infirmary, and Felix is grateful for that. There is nothing worth saying that he has the words for. Eventually, he falls back asleep, to Mercedes’ hand in his hair and the _Areadbhar_ rocking him to sleep, almost akin to a lover’s embrace.


	3. Chapter 3

Felix’s recovery is slow and arduous, but it happens nonetheless.

After that first visit, Dimitri does not return, although one night Felix wakes from a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep to the sight of him slumped over in the chair next to his bed. He looks pitiful, hardly a captain at all. His eyepatch hangs slightly crooked on his face, and his coat drapes over him like a blanket. Mercedes’ doing, no doubt.

The sight of him fill Felix with equal parts revulsion and shame. How dare Dimitri look on at him like this, like he has any business watching Felix? They’re nothing to each other. They should be nothing to each other.

Felix swallows and pulls the thin infirmary blanket tighter around himself. He falls back asleep, lulled by the sound of Dimitri’s breathing. He hates himself for it.

-

Although Felix resents them for it, the rest of the crew visits intermittently. He’s not going to be injured forever, and the implication that he needs fussing over infuriates him. Dedue seems to understand that the best. He visits Felix once. He wishes him a swift recovery and thanks him for his bravery in making sure that Annette and Ashe got out safely. It’s a short conversation, but it’s perhaps the one that comforts Felix the most.

The ocean really does make the unlikeliest of allies.

It’s changing them all, slowly. Things between Ingrid and him are still nowhere near what they used to be. She’s angry so often now. Felix is meant to be the angry one of their little cohort. He can barely handle his own rage, let alone anyone else’s.

Fortunately, Sylvain has been used to all of their anger for a long time. He comes by often, and one of those times he brings Ingrid along. She checked on him once, the very first day that he was there. Other than that, she hasn’t visited. Felix can’t decide if he minds or not.

Felix scowls at Ingrid. She mirrors the expression back at him.

“Oh good.” Sylvain claps Ingrid on the back, and she turns her scowl onto him. “You’re already talking.”

“We’re not talking,” Felix snaps.

“Sure you are!” Sylvain beams. “You’re making faces at each other, for the two of you, that’s basically the same thing.”

“Shut up.” Ingrid crosses her arm, her face so petulant that it’s almost comical.

Sylvain tousles Ingrid’s hair, ducking out of the way when she swats at him. Even though Felix is still bedridden, still fighting with Ingrid, it makes his chest tight to see the way that they still goof around each other like children. Their dynamic has changed over the years, of course, but at the core of everything they’re still family. No matter what happens, they will always have been each other’s first friends.

It’s unusually sentimental for Felix, and as much as he’d like to blame it on his injury, he knows that it’s simply another example of him being foolishly overemotional.

Sylvain must catch a glimpse of whatever expression is on Felix’s face, he narrows his eyes. “I’m tired of you two fighting. Make up.”

“We’re not children.” Felix crosses his arms, unconsciously mimicking Ingrid.

“Good,” Sylvain says flatly. “Then act like it.” He turns on his heel and marches out of the room, leaving Felix and Ingrid alone with each other.

He and Ingrid have never been good at words. When they were little and fought, Glenn used to refuse to talk to them both until they made nice. After Glenn died, their post fight ritual was hunting together, falling back on their teamwork as a way to avoid their emotions.

Neither of those things are possible now. Instead, they’ll have to do the unthinkable, actually talk things out. 

Felix scoots a little further up the bed, reclining against the plush pillows Mercedes somehow managed to outfit the room with. “Well?”

Ingrid glowers at him. “You’re the one who started it.”

Felix laughs, a single short and sarcastic syllable. “Oh please. I’m the one trying to be practical and keep us from all being slaughtered. You’re the one who’s obsessed with the dead.” Already, Felix can feel rage rising up inside him like some terrible tempest. Talking about these things always leaves him too mad to speak, all emotions but anger burned out of him. 

Ingrid doesn’t seem to have such problems. “I’m trying to live in a way that honors Glenn! I’m sorry that you can’t do the same.”

“The dead care nothing for honor,” Felix snarls. “Glenn would want us to live. He wouldn’t give a fuck about what we did to stay that way.”

“You know that’s not true,” Ingrid protests. “Glenn was proud to serve, as much as you’d like to forget that. He was a good man, and a good knight. He would have hated to see _The Areadbhar_ used this way. Pirates were what killed him, and now we’re no better than them.”

All at once, the rage leaves Felix, the dull throbbing of his wound and a deep set exhaustion the only things that remain. “Fine then. If you’re so damned upset about it all, you figure it out. What should we be doing, Ingrid?”

She looks off to the side, her jaw tight and arms crossed.

“Should we throw ourselves into the ocean? Go surrender to the Empire? Ask whatever ship we inevitably steal from to give us their stuff and explain that we don’t actually want to be doing any of this?”

“Shut up!” Ingrid whirls towards him, her hands balled into fists at her side. “You’ve made your point Felix. I know there isn’t anything else we can do. I’m not stupid.” She huffs out a small sigh. It’s the same noise she used to make as a little girl with pigtails who was tired of being told not to get her dresses dirty. It’s one born entirely of frustration, and Felix has no idea how to fix it. Glenn used to have quite the talent for it, but Glenn has been gone for a long time.

If they met Glenn again today, Felix doubts that he would recognize the monsters they’ve all turned into.

“What’s the point of it all?” Ingrid continues. “We can’t live like this forever.”

Felix shrugs. “That’s a question for the Boar.”

“The Captain, you mean.”

He averts his gaze. “Same difference.”

Ingrid sighs. “I’m still angry at you.” He grunts. “But… I’m tired of fighting. Can we agree to be mad at each other but still take meals together?”

It’s probably the best that they can manage at the moment. There isn’t any wildlife around for them to kill, and they’re trapped together on the same boat for the foreseeable future. Felix brushes his bangs out of his face. “Yeah. That works.”

Ingrid nods, uncomfortably business-like. “I’m glad you didn’t die,” she says at last. “Keep doing that.”

Felix’s mouth twists. “Sure. I’ll do my best.”

She nods again, still overly stiff. “Great. Glad to hear it.” She turns and walks out of the infirmary, leaving Felix alone with his thoughts. 

-

Felix has been up and about for three days when Dedue announces that they’re down to a week’s worth of supplies. The news spreads through the ship like a sickness, polluting them all until they’re hoarding what meager personal belongings they do have like animals.

That evening, Dimitri stands on the forecastle and looks out at _The Areadbhar’s_ sorry excuse for a crew. “We knew this would happen,” he says. “That woman has ruined our lives, stolen our homes, and destroyed everything we held dear.” There’s murmurs of assent from the crew, and a few people call out words that Felix was taught were better left unsaid in polite company. 

Not that any of them are particularly polite, these days.

“There’s only one thing we can do,” Dimitri declares. “We must strike back, and take from her what was once ours.” He lifts his chin, and there is nothing of kingliness in his posture. There’s command, but that’s different from the authority of a king. Dimitri looks like a Captain, well and true.

“She has us labelled as pirates! She would have us slandered, killed for crimes we have not even committed.” Dimitri grins. “I say, let her come! If she is so eager for us to be monsters, let us be just that!” Dimitri keeps talking, but Felix tunes him out. It all comes down to the same piece of information: they’re going to have to go on the hunt. 

-

Despite their grand declarations, it takes days to maneuver into Empire trade routes, and another couple after that to spot a ship. Tensions run high, and even Mercedes seems close to snapping. Felix can’t fault her; none of the rest of them are any better.

The reality that they could starve to death or die of thirst is slowly becoming more and more apparent.

There’s only so much that can be done while they’re on the hunt. The ship is cleaner than it’s been since they’ve disembarked, and every piece of equipment is organized and accounted for. It’s painfully boring, it’s stressful, and Felix is ready for it to end.

It’s almost a shame, he muses to himself as he double checks the rigging of one of the sails. Surprisingly, he likes life at sea. The routine settles him, as does the smell of salt and the spray of the ocean. Under another circumstance, he could imagine living a life like this by choice. A pity that there is nothing freeing about any of this. They’re living for their survival first and foremost, above everything else.

“Sails!”

The shout is impossibly loud. It resonates across the main deck and stops the crew in their tracks. Felix jerks his head up from where he’d been checking the rigging for frayed ropes. He climbs back down to the main deck as fast as his limbs can carry him.

Dimitri already stands at the railing of the ship, and Felix scrambles to join him. The Captain has a spyglass in his hand, and Felix rests a hand on his pistol out of habit. “Is it-”

“Yes.” Dimitri cuts him off. He lowers the spyglass, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “An Empire merchant.”

Felix wants to ask for the spyglass, to try to count the number of canons and learn more information, but Dimitri whirls away from him. “Release the topsail!” His voice carries easily across the deck of the ship. As the crew rushes to follow his orders, a breeze whips through the air, causing Dimitri’s heavy, fur-lined coat to billow out behind him. Felix’s breath catches in his throat as he watches him, and it takes more effort than he’d like to admit to tear his gaze away.

Annette scurries up the ratlines at his order, adjusting the topsail of the main mast accordingly. As loathe as Felix is to admit it, he already knows that he likes the hunt. Something about it is setting his blood aflame. He’s unsure if it’s the slow crawl of the chase or the knowledge that they’re closing in on their prey and that they’re going to be able to eat well tonight.

Perhaps it’s that he’s always been a little monstrous as well. He and the Boar have more in common than he’d life to think.

Either way, battle has always been where Felix feels the most alive, and this is no exception. He draws his sword and double checks that his pistol is loaded as they creep closer. They have a favorable wind and are making good time, and the little merchant ship ahead of them struggles to get her broadsides to bear.

“Ashe,” Dimitri calls, an almost sickening grin on his face. “Fire at will.”

Ashe nods, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The crew loads the cannons, and as they draw up on the side of the ship, Ashe shouts an order and they explode.

One of the cannonballs sinks into the water, but the others strike true, sending splinters of wood flying off of the merchant ship. Ashe fires another round as they approach, drawing up alongside the other ship.

A pause, and then another volley of canons, this time sent their way. Dimitri grabs Felix’s arm and drags him to the lower deck, joining the rest of the crew there. He catches Sylvain’s eye as Dimitri hauls him down the stairs, and the redhead nods. Felix doesn’t know what Sylvain is trying to convey, but he nods back, and the other man smiles.

Dimitri stops at the base of the stairs, letting go of Felix and drawing his sword. Down here, the tension in the room has a physicality, so much so that Felix can almost taste it. At his side, Dimitri’s eyes are wide and there’s a frightening smile on his face. He loves this too.

As horrible as it is, this is the closest Felix has felt to Dimitri in a long time. Sure, there’s the sex and the ill-advised kisses, but for once, Felix knows what Dimitri is thinking. He’s so caught up in trying to understand him all the time, in trying to make Dimitri understand him, that it’s nice to exist with him in a place outside of emotion.

It’s almost the same as when they’re intimate together, except here Dimitri never looks at him softly, like there’s some secret that is only ever revealed to him when he sees Felix. It’s much easier to deal with him like this. Here, they’re on the same page.

The order comes for them to board, and they’re off.

Felix crosses the gangplank quickly, pulling out his pistol and aiming a shot at one of the merchant’s guards. The pistol misfires, because of course it does, and the man jumps at him, swinging his sword wildly.

It’s almost not fair, Felix muses to himself as he ducks below the obvious attack and stabs the man cleanly in the back. Most of these idiots are no match for any of them. They’re highly trained generals from a war, not guards for hire.

Still, it’s a fight, and there is no time to get cocky.

Another of the guards slashes at Felix with a dagger, managing to nick the edge of one of his sleeves. Felix scowls and whirls around, attempting to get a hit in on the man, but he’s too fast. His movements are nowhere near as crisp as Felix’s, but he’s quick, and that’s almost worse. Felix would know, after all.

Still, an enemy is an enemy, and there’s no time to remark upon the swiftness of one’s foes. Admiration of opponents will only result in death. 

He scurries after the other man, raising his sword arm just as his adversary turns. Felix meets his eyes, and realizes that it’s no feared man he’s facing off against, but a boy, scarcely over the age of sixteen. Is this how they appeared, in the midst of the war? Baby-faced and scared?

For just a moment, he falters, his grip on his scimitar wavering. These were the kinds of people they were supposed to protect. Now, they’re no better than common criminals. Edelgard is right to have a price on their heads. Ingrid might be right in saying that they can’t come back from this.

The man he’s facing has no reservations, however. He surges at Felix, backing him up against the mainmast of the ship and pinning his arm behind his back. Felix struggles in his grasp, but his arm is twisted tight behind him and his sword falls from his hand, thudding to the deck of the ship. The sound echoes impossibly loud in Felix’s head, even though he knows it cannot be heard above the din of battle.

The man - the boy, really - draws his sword and brings it up to Felix’s throat.

“Have you ever killed anyone before?” Felix spits out, his lip curled.

“Yes.” He’s obviously lying. His hand is shaking, after all. If he’d really killed someone before, Felix would already be dead. 

“It’s harder than you think it is,” Felix says. “You’re never going to stop seeing my face.”

That’s the truth, if he’s being honest. Felix has killed so many people, but he’ll always remember his first. Everyone does.

“Shut up!” The boy moves to slash Felix’s throat. 

It’s almost too easy to slam his head forward against the boy’s. He stumbles backwards and Felix kicks him in the stomach, pushing him to the ground. The boy tries to keep a hold on his sword, but Felix has been trained to fight from birth. Faerghus was a machine that specializes in killing, and Fraldariuses are born with blood that hungers for violence. It takes no effort at all to disarm the boy, his sword skittering across the deck.

Felix plants a foot on his opponent’s chest and looks down at him. The boy scrabbles at his leg uselessly, trying to pull him down. “Please,” he says, desperate and breathless.

“Haven’t you heard?” Felix says, voice flat. “We’re pirates.” He stabs down into the man’s chest, and doesn’t step off the body until the gurgling stops.

After, Felix cleans the blood off his new sword and heads back into battle. It’s like he said; you never forget your first, but by this point, every kill is inconsequential. Another death means nothing at all anymore.

He rolls his shoulders and heads back into the fray, the corpse behind him still oozing blood onto the deck of the ship.

Felix kills three more men before the merchant finally surrenders. He collapses at Dimitri’s feet, begging him to just take the cargo and let him and the remainder of his men be. Dimitri looks like a king again, although the wind tousling his hair and the blood staining his clothes don’t inspire the same feeling as a throne room does.

“Are we low on patches for sails?” Dimitri looks across the deck to Dedue.

Dedue frowns. “Yes. But if we take their extras, we should be able to continue on for a while longer. There is no reason to cause any unnecessary destruction.”

Idiot. All Dimitri lives for is unnecessary destruction.

Dimitri looks down at the merchant, his face impassive. “If I let you go, you’ll spread news of our passing.”

The merchant shakes his head desperately, tears cascading down his face as he blubbers for his freedom. “I won’t, I won’t!”

He’s a monster. He’s a monster, and Felix has gone to bed with him before and will do so again. The knowledge sends his stomach into knots. He walks over to Dimitri, sheathing his sword and following Dimitri’s gaze down to the man cowering at his feet.

“Well?”

“He’s one of her men,” Dimitri says. “I don’t see why I should let him live.”

“We took what we needed,” Dedue replies. “Another needless death will solve nothing.”

There’s a terrible, vacant look in Dimitri’s eye. Felix is right: he really is nothing more than a beast craving blood. At Dimitri’s feet, in some terrible mockery of the nobility that they used to be, the merchant captain crouches, tears running down his face. He’s of the Empire, but he isn’t Edelgard. He isn’t responsible for her crimes, or for any of the misfortune that’s befallen them. If anything, they’ve just ruined his life in much the same way that Edelgard ruined theirs.

He opens his mouth to tell Dimitri just that, but the Boar jerks his gaze over to Dedue. “They want her head.”

“I know.” Dedue’s gaze does not waver, and neither does his voice. For the first time, Felix envies his ability to keep whatever rage he must feel inside of him, and not wear it on his sleeve in the way that Felix does. “But they do not want his.”

Dimitri looks back down at the merchant. “He’ll tell her that we still live.”

It’s sickening, the lengths they have to go to in order to keep the Boar in check. “She already knows that,” Felix snaps. “We’re wanted criminals, remember?” 

Dimitri nods, much too slow for comfort, then looks up at Dedue. “You’re correct. It would accomplish nothing.” He turns and walks across the gangplank back to _The Areadbhar_ , his coat fanning out behind him. 

-

After the battle, Felix heads to Dimitri’s cabin. He doesn’t want to admit anything, even to himself, so instead he justifies it by telling himself that he’s checking to make sure their captain isn’t injured. After all, he’d returned to his quarters immediately after they’d set sail, and had disregarded Mercedes’ attempts to look him over.

When Felix arrives outside the door, however, there’s already the murmur of voices from within. He stills, his hand resting on the door handle.

“-this is all supposed to mean something!” Ingrid’s voice is full of anger, so thick that it sounds as though she might choke on it.

“None of this has any meaning.” In sharp contrast is Dimitri, sounding cool and completely unaffected.

“Glenn served on this ship!” Ingrid’s voice cracks.

“If Glenn were here, he would kill us.” Dimitri sounds so sure, as though he really has spoken to Glenn recently. “The only way we can appease him is by bringing him her head.” There’s a serenity to the words, so much so that even Felix wonders if that’s what his corpse of a brother would want.

Ingrid sighs. “This is our legacy. I thought that meant something to you.”

The conversation is clearly winding down, and Felix ducks off to the side, crouching behind a barrel. If Ingrid sees him, she’ll know that he overheard. He’s convinced of it.

The door to Dimitri’s cabin opens with a loud creak, and he hears Ingrid’s heavy footsteps recede. After a moment, he stands, and walks over to the door. He enters without knocking, slipping inside and pulling the door shut behind him.

Dimitri stands alone, in the middle of the room. His shoulders are hunched, and there’s blood streaked on his clothes. If Felix stretches his mind, he can almost smell it on him.

He doesn’t move when Felix approaches him, gives no sign of acknowledging his presence until Felix is inches away from him.

“Leave.”

Felix lifts his chin, attempting to look superior even though he knows Dimitri is not likely to either notice or care. “I don’t care what you want.”

Dimitri looks almost defeated. This close, Felix can see the blood on him clearer. There’s a smear on his cheekbones, and the bottom of his coat is heavy with it. “Why have you come?”

There are a million different answers to that question, and they’re all damning. “Mercedes sent me,” he lies. “She wanted to see if you were injured.”

“I am uninjured. Leave me.”

He should leave. This is a bad idea. Everything about this is foolish. Felix swallows. He doesn’t miss the way Dimitri’s single eye tracks the movement, looking up from beneath his hair. “I don’t know if I can trust you on that.”

Dimitri lifts his head, slowly. Even hunched in on himself like this, he’s still taller than Felix. Despite it all, Felix still feels infinitely more in control of the situation this time.

This time.

Is he already so wanton a thing? It’s pitiful. And yet, he cannot deny the slow curl of heat already spiking within him.

Dimitri lets his coat fall to the floor. Underneath, he’s in nothing but a thin shirt and trousers. Neither leave much to the imagination. His coat is the defining piece of his wardrobe, and to see him without it feels almost more intimate than Dimitri bending Felix over his desk and fucking him senseless.

Almost.

Felix lets his eyes sweep over Dimitri’s body. There are no visible injuries, no clothing soaked through with blood. Still, though, he must be sure. “Is that supposed to prove anything?”

Dimitri growls. The sound is low and dark and shoots through Felix like lightning, electrifying and forcing him to stand straight. The boar doesn’t speak, instead pulling his shirt off over his head in one smooth motion.

Felix would not give up this rare moment of control for anything. He relaxes, popping one of his hips and resting a hand on it. There are no new injuries on Dimitri, just a criss-crossed mass of scars that is, even with all of Felix’s battle experience, difficult to look at head on. It’s a firm reminder of all the times Dimitri has almost died, and of all the times he almost died alone. Even Dimitri likely doesn’t remember where they’re all from. 

“Satisfied?”

Felix scowls. “No. You could have been killed, charging ahead so recklessly earlier. Do you think the others would be able to survive without a captain?”

Dimitri lets his shirt fall to the floor. “Is that what you have come here for? To lecture me?”

It should be. He shouldn’t have come here in the first place, to say nothing of the fact that he’d essentially ordered Dimitri to strip for him. His scowl deepens, and he looks off to the side, glancing at Dimitri out of the corner of his eye. “No.”

Even at the edge of his vision, Dimitri is hard to ignore. There’s still blood on his face, but his chest is unmarred by any new injuries.

“What are you here for, then?” There’s a hint of a smile in Dimitri’s voice, and Felix turns to glare at him. He sounds almost human, like the friend Felix lost long ago.

“You know what I’m here for,” Felix snaps, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. He doesn’t miss the hungry way Dimitri’s eyes jump to stare at the bare skin of his wrist, or the slight twitch of one of Dimitri’s hands.

“I like it better when you say it,” Dimitri muses.

Felix’s scowls deepens. “I’m not at your beck and call.”

“Ah, but I am at yours?” Dimitri is still waiting, shirtless and standing in the middle of the cabin.

Felix’s face flushes, but he unbuttons the front of his shirt regardless. There’s no point in letting Dimitri do it; they don’t have excess supplies to spare. “Shut up.”

Dimitri doesn’t speak again, and when Felix looks back over at him after he’s finished removing his shirt, Dimitri hasn’t moved.

It should probably concern him, the amount he loves the feeling of having power over Dimitri.

Still, now isn’t the time to examine it. Instead, he steps forward, circling Dimitri like a shark. The former king of Faerghus doesn’t move, but Felix watches the muscles in his back flex. He gives in to whatever impulse is driving him and steps forward, pressing a palm flat against the space between Dimitri’s shoulder blades.

Still, Dimitri doesn’t speak. Felix sighs. “You can talk.” Dimitri lets out a silent, barely there exhale. He breathes in, heavily, and Felix feels the muscles in Dimitri’s back flex as he does so.

“How long are you going to draw this out?” Dimitri sounds almost bored by the whole affair, which is laughable. If Felix were to check his pulse, he knows it would be jackrabbit quick, beating with an intensity that is comforting if only because it proves that Dimitri still has a heart at all.

Felix tips his head to the side. “What exactly am I drawing out?” He still hasn’t moved his hand, and Dimitri has, at some point, started leaning into the touch.

This was so much easier when they didn’t talk. The first time, when Dimitri had gotten down on his knees in front of Felix and taken him into his mouth like some sort of worship hadn’t been easy, but there had at least been a possibility of it never happening again. It had been a fluke, a mistake.

There is no denying this.

Dimitri doesn’t reply, but there’s no needs for words. Felix knows what he wants. He lifts his hand from the warmth of Dimitri’s skin, walking around to stand in front of him. Dimitri’s eye flits up to meet Felix’s gaze. A small, secret smile crosses Felix’s face. “Are you just going to stand there?”

Dimitri surges forward and slams his lips against Felix’s. There’s no compromise or build-up, and Felix melts into it without a second thought. Dimitri’s arms wrap around him, blunt fingernails scraping furrows into the skin of Felix’s back. He shudders, arching further into Dimitri’s hold. The welts left by Dimitri’s nails will be there for days, a constant and undeniable reminder of what they’ve done. He hates the way he loves the sting of pain, hates the way that he wants more.

He bites at Dimitri’s lip and Dimitri moans low, almost animalistic. His hands slide down Felix’s back to his waist, gripping him tightly. He hoists Felix into the air like he weighs nothing, and Felix wraps his legs around Dimitri’s waist.

Dimitri slams Felix against the wall, Felix’s back scraping against the harsh wood. He hisses, pulling away from Dimitri to scowl at him. “Boar,” he snaps. He wants Dimitri’s hands on him, Dimitri’s teeth sucking bruises into his neck and leaving harsh lines on his back. He doesn’t want to be thrown against the wall of the ship like he’s some plaything. 

“Oh.” Some of the heat in Dimitri’s eye fades, and he steps back from the wall. His arms around Felix ease, and in response Felix tightens his legs around Dimitri’s torso. “Oh,” Dimitri says again.

“Like I said,” Felix snarls. “Are you going to do something, or are you just going to stand there?”

Dimitri’s tongue flits out to swipe at his bottom lip. “What would you have me do?”

Felix sighs. Apparently he does have to do all the work. Dimitri’s arms shift around him, and Felix winds his arms around his neck. “There's a perfectly good bed right there.” 

Dimitri growls. He sounds truly like a beast, with how bad he wants Felix. Disgusting. If only Felix didn’t want precisely the same thing. He walks over to the narrow bed, still holding Felix like he weighs nothing at all.

The captain’s quarters have one of the only proper beds on the ship, and although there is something to be said about the fact that all of the rest of them are sleeping in cramped hammocks, Felix isn’t going to complain when he’s the one being tossed down onto the bed like a sack of flour.

Dimitri looms above him on all fours, and Felix laughs. It’s sharp and cutting, and Dimitri’s eyes go wide at the sound. “Felix - may I kiss you?”

“Stop asking stupid questions.” Felix props himself up on his elbows, Dimitri meeting him halfway in a heated kiss. It’s filthy, really, with the way that Dimitri delves his tongue into Felix’s mouth, but Felix is starting to realize that this is Dimitri, without any compromises. There’s no other way to have him.

Dimitri makes a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and Felix swallows it down eagerly. His mind is still abuzz with the aftermath of the battle, with the knowledge that they truly are pirates now. Nothing has changed officially - Edelgard had already labelled them as pirates, no doubt, but everything is different.

The whole world has changed in such a short period of time. As strained as things have been, Felix is glad that Dimitri is still here. There has been at least this one constant throughout this ordeal, and that is Dimitri’s mouth against his.

Felix breaks away and skates careful fingers over Dimitri’s bare chest. He knows what he wants, but his tongue sits like a dead thing in his mouth, and the words escape him.

Dimitri settles himself onto Felix’s lap and grinds downward. Felix arches up into it, flexing his muscles and wrapping his arms around Dimitri’s neck. “Good,” he pants, bucking his hips upward.

Dimitri drops his head onto Felix’s shoulder, mouthing at the tendon in his neck. Felix shudders, raking his nails over Dimitri’s back. The feeling of his bare skin against Dimitri’s is intoxicating, and Felix wants more.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, glancing up at Dimitri to gauge his reaction.

It’s just as he’d hoped. Dimitri’s pupil goes wide, and he shifts, thighs clenching tight around Felix. “Please.”

Felix runs a careful hand down Dimitri’s chest, stopping at the laces of his trousers. “Well?”

Dimitri scrambles to his feet, unlacing his pants and shoving them and his smallclothes down in one swift motion. Felix would like to laugh at his eagerness, but he can hardly fault him, not when he himself is hard and straining against the confines of his pants. Felix allows himself a moment to look over him, his eyes lingering on a particularly nasty scar spanning the length of Dimitri’s thigh.

He doesn’t remember that one. It must have happened while Dimitri was off on his own.

Felix feels something like jealousy stir within him, at the mere thought that Dimitri has scars he doesn’t know. “Come here,” he snaps.

Dimitri walks back over to the bed, climbing back into it and kneeling in front of Felix.

As loathe as Felix is to let himself be kind, he leans forward and presses a kiss to Dimitri’s forehead. “Lay down.”

Dimitri’s face goes pink, and he takes a long moment to respond before sliding down to lay flat on his back. Felix shifts, moving so that he’s straddling Dimitri’s skin, seated just above his cock. He’s still wearing his trousers, but he can feel the press of Dimitri’s erection through them. He grinds down, once, watching as the other man throws his head back and moans.

It’s such an inviting invitation that Felix can’t help but lean forward and bite at his jaw, smirking when Dimitri makes another desperate sound. 

Felix sits up and clicks his tongue. “Needy.” He skates a hand over Dimitri’s chest, purposefully ignoring his dick. He scrapes nails over a nipple and smirks as Dimitri arches his back. “You’re sensitive, aren’t you?”

Dimitri’s eye flicks up to meet his gaze. “Felix…”

“What?” Felix’s lip curls. “We’re not in Fhirdiad. You’re not a king. If you want something, you have to ask for it.”

It’s too harsh. As soon as the words leave Felix’s mouth, he wishes he could take them back. Dimitri knows that he’s not a king, probably knows that better than any of them. He opens his mouth to apologize, but no words come out.

Dimitri closes his eye. “Ah. Yes. Of course.”

Felix swallows. “Dimitri.” The name feels unfamiliar on his tongue; it’s been so long, since he’s said it to his face.

Dimitri’s eye jolts back open, and his whole body shudders like he’s been hit. “You said my name.”

Felix’s cheeks warm, and he looks away. “Don’t get used to it.” Rather than have to look at Dimitri any longer, he bends down, pressing his mouth to his pecs. They’re soft to touch, and his tongue darts out to lick over the skin, biting down on it sharply after a moment.

One of Dimitri’s hands flies down to grip his hair, and Felix stills. The pressure on his scalp is painful, but it sends sparks of pleasure shooting white-hot down his spine. He’s tempted to ask Dimitri to pull harder, but knowing the boar he’ll only fret over his own strength.

Instead, as if in reward, Felix rolls his tongue over one of Dimitri’s nipples, his arm reaching up to clumsily rub at the other one. Dimitri’s hips jerk upwards, and he pulls, hard, on Felix’s hair.

A moan looses itself from Felix’s lips as he’s yanked off of Dimitri, his grip on Felix’s hair still verging on too tight to be pleasurable. It’s perfect.

“Ah, I apologize.” Dimitri’s fingers loosens. “I got… overexcited, I suppose.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “I liked it.” Still, the moment has passed, and he reaches a hand into his pocket, fumbling around for the cooking oil he’d lifted for just this occasion. He’d felt so shameless, stowing it into his pockets before slipping off into the Captain’s quarters, but now he’s grateful for it.

“On your stomach,” he orders, holding up the vial for context.

Dimitri takes a shaky breath and then turns over, reaching out his arms above him to grab at the sheets. He can’t be comfortable with the way that he’s contorted himself into the bed, but Felix doesn’t say anything, instead pops the cork off the vial and coats his fingers before carefully stopping the bottle again and setting it off to the side.

Dimitri makes a low noise in the back of his throat when Felix slides his first finger in. His muscles tense underneath him, and without thinking Felix reaches out and soothes a hand over his back. Dimitri relaxes at his touch, and Felix scowls. He doesn’t want to be this kind with Dimitri. He wants to put the Boar in his place, to take control of the situation.

Or at least, he wants to want that.

Instead, he crooks his finger slowly into Dimitri and watches his captain unravel beneath him. He still has his eyepatch on, and Felix contemplates reaching out and removing it. He can’t; as complicated as he and Dimitri are, some cruelties lie out of Felix’s reach. Dimitri moans, his eye fluttering shut.

“Can you take another?” Felix digs his nails into one of the scars on Dimitri’s back, wishing he could rip it off of him. He would bear every scar for him if he could.

“Please,” Dimitri pants.

Felix smiles, then slides a second finger into Dimitri. It’s overwhelming, how comfortable it feels. He could stay like this for hours, he thinks, learning Dimitri’s body and the ways in which he can make it sing.

He wishes he didn’t want this. Even as he curls his fingers deeper and works to find that spot inside Dimitri that will send him howling, a part of him is thinking about how there has to be something wrong with him. He should hate Dimitri for all that they’ve done to each other, but instead he’s here, watching the ways in which Dimitri’s body falls apart around him.

“Felix,” Dimitri groans, one of his hands scrabbling at the sheets. “More, Felix. Please.”

Felix brushes his bangs out of his face with his free hand, smirking down at Dimitri, even though he can’t see him. “You’re so needy.” He pushes another finger into Dimitri though, and Dimitri cries out like he’s been shot. It’s intoxicating, to know the effect that he has on him. The only thing Felix has ever wanted is Dimitri’s full attention, and this is certainly one way to get it.

“I’m ready, Felix,” Dimitri sounds ruined. He’s not going to be able to give any of his pretty speeches to the crew after this.

“Are you?” Felix muses. “Do you think the rest of the crew can hear you? They’ll know what you really are.”

“Yours,” Dimitri pants. “Thats, _fuck,_ what I am.”

Felix’s hand stills. He can’t - he can’t do this. He needs to leave. Dimitri isn’t his. They don’t even know each other anymore. He pulls his fingers out of Dimitri too quickly, and Dimitri cries out underneath him, spreading his legs.

Felix looks down at him, a mixture of disdain and lust written on his face. Goddess; he wants him so much. This desire could be the death of him, if he’s not careful.

“What are you waiting for?” Dimitri turns his head to the side, his one good eye staring up at Felix.

What is Felix waiting for? For his heart to stop beating so frantically, or for his brain to stop screaming at him that he should leave? Neither of those are going to happen. His eyes dart towards the door. He could leave, could ignore Dimitri’s soft moans and cries for more. It’s a decently sized ship. He could go at least a day or two without having to confront Dimitri.

Even as he thinks it, he knows he could never go through with it. If he leaves, he’ll never get to see Dimitri like this again. Now that he’s had it once, he doesn’t know if he can go without. He traces the line of Dimitri’s thigh with trembling fingers. “Nothing.”

He unbuckles his trousers and shoves them off, discarding them on the floor of the cabin. Felix runs a hand over himself a few times, his eyes half lidded already. The bottle of oil is just off to the side, and he pulls the stopper out with his teeth and then pours some over himself. It’s cold, and he hisses from the feel of it.

“Hurry up,” Dimitri pleads, his eye screwed tightly closed.

Felix smirks. “I’ll take as long as I damn well please.” 

He’s always been unfortunately willing to do what Dimitri asks though, and he presses the head of his cock against Dimitri’s hole, guiding himself slowly in. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt; the pressure, the warmth, and the fact that it’s Dimitri he’s inside of is almost enough to do him in right away.

Dimitri tightens around him, and Felix stills, giving him time to adjust to the stretch. The seconds tick by slowly, and Felix rations his breathing, trying to keep himself from rocking further into Dimitri. Finally, he nods, one of his fingers curling tight into the sheets. “Please.” He’s obnoxiously polite, even with Felix’s dick inside of him. 

Felix pushes the rest of the way in, setting his hand down on the small of Dimitri’s back to give himself better leverage.

_“Mitya.”_ The nickname falls, unbidden, from Felix’s mouth as he hilts himself inside of Dimitri. It’s been so long since he’s called Dimitri that, and he wishes he could take it back as soon as he says it. It’s too late though; what’s done is done. 

Dimitri shudders under Felix, his whole body flushed red. “Felix, I- you…” he trails off, dropping his head onto the sheets. “Fuck.”

Felix is rather inclined to agree. He doesn’t speak, for fear of saying something else embarrassing. Instead, he rolls his hips experimentally, watching the way that Dimitri tightens his grip on the sheets. He’s overcome by the foolish, almost cloying urge to ask Dimitri if he’s okay, to kiss his spine like a lover would.

Instead, he grips Dimitri by the hips and thrusts into him. Underneath him, Dimitri lets out a strained _ah_. “Felix, you feel amazing.”

Felix wants to tell him to shut up. Maybe next time he’ll gag Dimitri so he doesn’t have to hear him speak. “Shut up,” he grunts, snapping his hips forward.

He’s on his knees above Dimitri, and he moves his hands up to hold his stupidly small waist. Here, it’s easy to get leverage, to push Dimitri down into the mattress and start to thrust into him with everything he has. It’s intoxicating, the noises Dimitri is making underneath him. Felix watches the flush overtake the boar and the way that he arches up into Felix’s touch.

Felix moves one of his hands to the center of Dimitri’s back, feeling the muscle there flex underneath his touch. Dimitri is strong, and easily has half a foot on Felix. And yet, under his touch he’s crying out like Felix is the only thing that’s ever made him feel anything good. As loathe as Felix is to admit it, he loves it.

He drags his nails down Dimitri’s back. “You look good like this,” he says. His voice doesn’t sound quite like his own, and he wishes he could think before he spoke.

Dimitri whines. It’s such a delicious, un-Dimitri-like noise that Felix thinks for a moment he’s hallucinated it. He hasn’t though; Dimitri’s whole body is flushed, and Felix snaps his hips forward as hard as he can. Dimitri makes the noise again, and Felix shudders. “Fuck, Mitya.” The nickname slips out again, far too soft for what they’re doing.

It certainly affects Dimitri though; he clenches down around Felix, unfathomably tight all of a sudden, and Felix makes a noise like all the air has just been punched out of him. “Holy shit,” he whispers, and then spends himself inside of Dimitri.

The orgasm takes him by surprise, a wave of pleasure appearing out of seemingly nowhere and cresting over him almost without warning. It’s good though, and he slumps over Dimitri’s back and shudders with the aftershocks. 

He’s never loud, even when he’s by himself, but he lets out a quiet, whispered _fuck_ anyways. Underneath him, Dimitri squirms. Right. He still hasn’t come.

As heavy as Felix’s limbs feel, he isn’t going to leave Dimitri. He pulls out slowly, watching his come seep out of Dimitri with an awestruck expression on his face. He traces a finger around Dimitri’s hole, almost reverently, and Dimitri twitches.

“Felix, please…” The boar sounds wrecked, his voice utterly ruined.

“I know,” Felix says. His voice sounds soft, and he hardly even minds. He exhales, then lifts his hips. “Roll over.”

Dimitri turns over onto his back, looking up at Felix with a needy expression. His cock - which Felix quite frankly hasn’t paid enough attention to - is almost unfairly large. As good as this just was, Felix can’t help but want it inside of him. Another time.

“I suppose you want me to get you off too?” Felix tries his best to sound bored, even though he hasn’t stopped staring at Dimitri’s dick. “Do I have to do everything around here?”

Dimitri makes a high-pitched whine in the back of his throat.

Felix rolls his eyes. “I know,” he says again.

He wraps a hand around Dimitri and strokes him slowly, thumbing at the head and twisting his wrist in the same way he likes to do to himself. Dimitri moans, and Felix leans down to cover his mouth with his own.

Dimitri makes more noises as Felix continues, all of them swallowed up into Felix’s mouth. It feels like no time at all before Dimitri’s body goes tense underneath him, each muscle straining as he comes into Felix’s hand. 

A burst of pride shoots through him as he sits back on his heels, looking down at the utterly debauched Dimitri. He doesn’t look like he’s going to get up any time soon, and so Felix drags himself to his feet and grabs a rag off of Dimitri’s desk. He wipes his hands off as best he can, then walks back over to the bed.

Dimitri hasn’t moved, and as Felix stares at him he’s hit with a simple realization: there’s no way this is going to be the last time they do this. Felix is dead tired and his thighs are killing him, but he looks at the expression on Dimitri’s face and knows that it was worth it. He wishes he could find this soft feeling inside of himself and beat it to death, but he can’t.

Felix hands the rag to Dimitri and watches as he cleans himself up. Part of him wants to knock his hands aside and do it himself, but he can’t. Instead, he wrenches his gaze away, staring at the discarded clothing on the floor instead.

He needs to leave, before the timing becomes awkward.

Dimitri tosses the rag onto the floor, then looks up at him with a wide, open expression. He looks tired, some of the tension finally gone from his bones. Felix isn’t an idiot; he knows in the morning that Dimitri will be just as he always is, boar and all.

But perhaps, just for tonight, he can pretend otherwise. He lowers himself down next to Dimitri, squishing into the narrow bed, half on top of the other man. There’s no way Dimitri is comfortable. He should leave.

Dimitri wraps an arm around Felix’s waist. “Are you leaving?

He sounds so sad, the damned fool. Felix purses his lips. “I’m comfortable. I see no reason to get up.”

Dimitri presses his face into Felix's neck. “I see. I have no desire to inconvenience you.” 

Felix rolls his eyes. “Of course you don’t.” He should have left as soon as he was finished. Felix knows this, is almost intimately aware of it, even as Dimitri’s breath tickles his jaw and the arm around his waist remains warm and comfortable.

He’ll stay. Just for a little bit. Just until the boar falls asleep. He surely needs the rest. Dimitri sighs, a full body movement that leaves him boneless against Felix. “Thank you,” he says.

Felix’s mouth twists.There is no way out of this without heartbreak. He knows this, and yet he tangles his legs with Dimitri’s anyway. “Whatever.” Dimitri holds him a little tighter, and Felix gives in to the temptation of a warm body and relaxes, going boneless against Dimitri. The boar makes a pleased hum into Felix’s skin, his free arm coming up to hold Felix tight to his chest with both hands. He’s warm and comfortable, and this is going to end in misery. There’s no other ending to this story.

For the moment, though, Felix lets his body melt into the embrace. His eyes flutter shut, and he matches his breathing to Dimitri’s. It should concern him, how easy it is to drift off like this, but there will be time for that later. Now, all they have to do is sleep.

-

Felix and Dimitri don’t talk about it in the morning, and they don’t talk about it the next day when Dimitri kisses Felix until Felix thinks he might forget how to breathe. It’s a mistake, and it’s one that Felix can no longer see a way out of.

Three days later, Mercedes unveils her newest project over breakfast.

It seems such an insignificant thing, in Mercedes’ hands. A simple black flag, save for the white lion Mercedes had painstakingly painted onto it. It’s beautiful, truly.

A shame that it means they’re monsters through and through.

Dedue clears his throat. Of them all, he is the most obviously regretful about this course of action, but he’s also the most willing to do what needs to be done. To his own surprise, Felix has come to respect the man.

At the very least, this has proved that Dedue is able to function outside of Dimitri. It’s no blessing, hardly even a bright side, but still, it’s something. Although, Felix is hardly one to talk. After all, what is he on this ship for if not Dimitri? His face flushes as he remembers last night, remembers that he’s avoiding Dimitri even now. They’ll talk about it sometime. Felix will put a stop to it. It’ll be fine. 

“There’s no turning back now, is there?” Annette’s voice wavers.

“No,” Sylvain replies. “This is going to haunt us for the rest of our lives.”

Dedue sighs. “This cannot be a long-term solution.”

“It matters not.” Dimitri stands with a harsh scrape of his chair. “Someday, we’ll head back to Enbarr and rip that woman’s traitorous head from her shoulders.”

Ingrid meets Felix’s eyes across the room. It feels like they’re almost friends again, like their conversation in the infirmary meant something after all. He scowls and looks away, and she laughs. It’s how it should be.

Dimitri leaves, his coat weighing him down like an anchor. The rest of them sit, uncomfortable in the silence he leaves behind. Annette is the one that finally breaks the tension, sighing and looking over at Mercedes, still awkwardly holding up her flag. “Well, _I_ think it looks lovely Mercie.” 

Mercedes laughs in the gentle, lilting way she has. “Thank you Annie.” She lowers her arms and walks back over to sit beside the younger girl.

Breakfast concludes soon after that, and everyone drifts off to their respective positions, until it’s only Sylvain and Felix left in the mess hall. Felix finishes his meal and rises to leave, but Sylvain cuts him off at the door.

“You going to see him?” There’s a self-satisfied grin on his old friend’s face.

The insinuation curdles Felix’s blood, and he shoves Sylvain’s hand off the door. “Shut up.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Sylvain tilts his head to the side. “Do you know what you’re getting into?”

Felix stiffens. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Do I even have to say it?” Sylvain laughs, tossing his head back. “You’re the one who calls him a monster.”

The boat sways underneath them. Normally, the constant movement grounds him, but in this instant all it does is make Felix feel even more unsteady. There are so many unknowns, and this is yet another reminder of that. “He is a monster,” Felix snaps. “Now get out of my way.”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing,” Sylvain replies. He has a way of talking that makes everything sound like a secret, or a promise. It’s clearly how he gets so many women to trail after him, but Felix isn’t going to let himself get taken in by it.

“I know what I’m doing.”

Sylvain’s teasing mask slips for a moment, something like genuine worry shining through. “He looked like one, in the battle the other day. I thought for a moment he was going to slaughter us next.”

Felix remembers the way the boy he’d fought had looked at him, a youth in his eyes that he hasn’t seen in a long time. All of them have been killers for so long. What right do they have, to say what a monster is anymore? For once, he looks Sylvain in the eyes, his gaze dead. “We’re pirates. We’re all monsters now.”

Sylvain finally moves aside. “Right. Of course.” His smile is back, although now that Felix has seen the spots where it catches, it’s not hard to find the faint strains of worry written into his face.

It’s even easier to pretend they don’t exist and brush past him.


	4. Chapter 4

Some time after them stumbling their way into piracy, Dimitri starts to follow Felix around. It’s subtle, barely there, but more often than not, when Felix is on a break, so is Dimitri. When Felix can’t sleep, Dimitri is out on the main deck, contemplating the stars. If Felix didn’t know Dimitri as well as he does, he would swear that it was a mere coincidence.

It’s one such night, and there is a storm in the distance. Felix can see the lightning in the clouds, but it’s far enough that there is no sound to accompany it. 

“Felix.” Dimitri stands besides him, hands clasped behind his back. “Can’t sleep?”

“No.” Felix keeps his eyes on the horizon. “I suppose it’s a coincidence that you can’t either?”

“Ah.” Dimitri sighs. “So you have noticed.”

Felix snorts. “You haven’t exactly been subtle. I’m surprised I don’t wake up to find you watching me sleep.”

Dimitri’s mouth twists. “You would yell at me.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Of course I would. It’s creepy.”

Dimitri leans forward, resting an elbow on the ship’s railing and holding his chin delicately in his hand. He looks so contemplative like this. Felix can almost see it as a painting, hanging in some museum in Fhirdiad. Here is the king, contemplative, his shield at his side.

It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, thinking about this moment rendered in a picture so that anyone else can view it. It’s foolish, but he still wants to keep a part of Dimitri for himself.

“I have had much to think about lately,” Dimitri says, his eye closing. It feels like such a strange trust, for Dimitri to allow himself to be fully blind in Felix’s presence. Dimitri could simply open his eye, but still. Felix could kill him like this.

Felix’s breath hitches as he inhales. “What about?”

“Glenn.” Dimitri’s brow furrows. “He was in the navy. He used to tell me at length about the ills of piracy and how it was a drain on society.”

“He’s not here now.” Felix’s voice is clipped, measured.

“I don’t know how I can hope to gain his forgiveness.” Dimitri opens his eye and stares out over the waves. “I thought that woman’s head would be enough, but…” he sighs. “I am no longer certain.”

Felix grips the side of the ship. “Glenn’s dead,” he snaps. “He’s been dead for nine years. He can’t forgive anyone.”

Dimitri shakes his head. He doesn’t turn away from the sea. “Him… my father… my stepmother… they will never be at peace if we cannot bring them her head.”

“Do you really think that’s still possible?” Felix can’t help but let his derision feel his voice. The Boar Prince and his delusions. Nothing has changed.

“We have to bring them her head.” Dimitri repeats, a wild look in his eye. Felix thinks he could drown in that look, if he stared into it for long enough.

“Captain,” Felix says. He reaches out to lay a hand on Dimitri’s arm. Dimitri moves all at once, his serene and calm posture going stiff. His lip curls, animalistic.

Felix’s hand falls to his side and his shoulders slump. He doesn’t know what he expected. Nothing has changed. He’s foolish to have ever thought it would. Dimitri isn’t his king anymore, is barely his captain. He should stop expecting the man to be anything other than an animal. 

“He would want you to help,” Dimitri says, voice low. As a child, he’d been loathe to raise his voice, to do anything that could be perceived as rude.

Then again, Dimitri is a long way away from who he was as a child. Every day they both grow further and further from the children they used to be. Felix doesn’t know what they’ll turn into, but he hopes he’ll be okay with it. It’s hard to tell.

“Glenn would want me to cut my own path,” Felix replies tersely. “I don’t need you to tell me what my brother would want.”

There’s a far-off expression in Dimitri’s eyes. “You don’t? You have no desire to honor him?”

Felix is never going to be able to make him understand. It’s time he learned that. What’s even worse is the wholehearted sincerity with which Dimitri asks such questions. He truly believes that this is what Glenn would want, and will never be able to understand that the dead hold no dominion over them. 

He turns away from Dimitri to head back out onto the deck, his lip curled in anger. “This isn’t honoring the dead.” He stalks across the deck. There are more important things to do then let Dimitri’s ghosts drown them both.

-

It’s easier when they surrender. As much as Felix likes the thrill of the chase and the joy of the hunt, it’s easier when it’s like this:

They raise the black flag Mercedes lovingly hand-painted for them, and in response the Empire-branded merchant ship they’re chasing down raises a white flag. Surrender, when it does occur, is a delicate exercise in knowing just what exactly to say and do. One misstep, one hint of weakness, and the merchants are liable to suddenly attack.

In a way, it’s almost like the formal dinners they used to attend back in Fhirdiad. A mess of negotiations and false niceties, of carefully planned timing and often fraught opportunities.

Felix wishes he could find some way to like it. For all those years that Felix called Dimitri a monster, here he is, unable to leave the violence behind. It’s just so much easier than facing this new reality they’ve trapped themselves in.

After is his least favorite part, of a battle or a surrender. For surrenders, there’s cargo to sort, a ship to watch carefully as they sail away, and a hand that doesn’t leave the handle of his sword until they’re long out of canon range.

Battles are a different beast. After a battle, there are injuries to care for, and worries to soothe. Ingrid comes and checks on him after every battle, raking her eyes over him and then leaving. She doesn’t always say something, but she always comes and checks.

Felix is grateful for it, even if he doesn’t know the words with which to say so. There is much to be grateful for, even here.

-

“You’re thinking so loudly.” Felix is in Dimitri’s bed, as is the case more often than not these days. “What’s wrong?”

Dimitri sighs. “I am… concerned, about this lifestyle. You know that.”

This again. Felix doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Dimitri is horribly torn up over their lack of honor and what Felix’s dead family would think of their actions. Felix reclines against the pillows, going back to enjoying his brief rest. His shift on deck starts in less than an hour, and he’s still exhausted. Their crew has always been small, and as they’ve continued on with this confounded piracy, it's only gotten smaller.

After all, it’s difficult to hire new crew when they can’t even stop for supplies without risking their lives.

“I know.” Felix lifts an arm to rest behind his head, nestling himself into the crook of his elbow. He isn’t particularly concerned, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t see the point of it, of all that damned pomp and circumstance that the others are slowly strangling themselves with. Fhirdiad is long behind them, but the effects of it certainly aren’t. “If you have another plan to survive this mess, I’d love to hear it.”

Dimitri frowns. “Are we really living, like this?”

“This again?” Felix scowls. “Yes, boar. We’re still alive. Isn’t that all that matters?”

Dimitri sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. Felix nestles deeper into Dimitri’s bed. He can’t imagine getting up when he’s this comfortable. “Come back to bed,” Felix suggests.

Dimitri turns to look at him, his eye wide and pleading. He looks like a dog, left out in the rain and begging to be let back inside. Fool. Felix would never shut the door on him.

“No. Rest will not absolve me.”

Felix looks over at him, his once languid posture stiffening. “Dimitri?”

“I don’t even look like myself anymore.” Dimitri touches the edge of his eyepatch, frowning.

Felix sighs. Clearly this goes beyond guilt about piracy. He rises from his position on the bed, making his way over to Dimitri and resting a hand between his shoulder blades. “What are you even talking about?”

“I look like a pirate,” Dimitri grouses.

“You _are_ a pirate,” Felix protests. “We both are. We’re wanted for treason, or did you forget?”

“They’re the ones who should be hung for treason,” Dimitri snaps. The tension goes out of him a moment later though, his shoulders slumping like a discarded marionette. “I apologize. I have been feeling...unkempt, as of late. Unlike myself.”

Felix curls his fingers into Dimitri’s coat. “Who are you seeing?”

Dimitri turns his good eye towards Felix. “No one. I - Glenn does not stand at the foot of my bed these days. Neither does my father. But still I… feel I have strayed.”

Felix doesn’t know what to say when Dimitri gets like this. He’s not his keeper, or the one responsible for keeping his ghosts at bay. Only Dimitri can do that. “We’ve all strayed. We’re a long way from Fhirdiad.”

“Yes. I… suppose we are.” Dimitri sighs and rake a hand through his hair. “We are so unrecognizable from what we once were.”

Felix considers. “I recognize you.”

Dimitri exhales. “That is something, I suppose.”

Felix looses his grip on Dimitri’s coat and walks around to stand in front of him. “Stop being melodramatic. I know you, and you know me. What else do you need?” 

The furrow in Dimitri’s brow dissipates slightly. “I don’t know. I wish I could see a simpler way through this.”

Mercedes has said before that she imagines the calmness inside of her as a vast pool, one that she doesn’t want to disturb. Felix thinks that whatever is inside of him is always one step away from boiling over. Dimitri, though, somehow manages to hold both the calmness and the rage inside of him. 

There is nothing still and peaceful inside of Felix, but perhaps he can borrow from Dimitri for a time. He brings a hand up to cup Dimitri’s cheek. It’s not something that they do, this wretched tenderness that the action displays. This is supposed to be purely physical. Dimitri is a boar, a monster.

Felix is tired of being angry with him.

“What do you need?” It’s a question that, for once, isn’t asked with bitterness. Instead, there’s only a bone-deep desire to fix everything that Dimitri holds so close inside of him.

Dimitri closes his eye. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Felix, to burden you with such things.”

“Shut up,” Felix smooths the front of Dimitri’s shirt. “Answer the damn question.”

Dimitri sighs. “There is nothing you can do.” A pause. He looks down at Felix and notices the hand curled into the front of his shirt. “Cut my hair for me?”

“I’m not your servant.” 

“You asked what I needed,” Dimitri says. “I don’t look like a King anymore. I’m… a pirate.”

The word seems to carry more weight when it comes from Dimitri’s lips. Felix swallows, his throat suddenly dry. Ashe has cut his and the other’s hair since they disembarked, but it seems that Dimitri has not received such treatment. There is, of course, the fact that Dimitri’s hands shake when he holds delicate things and his depth perception does not lend itself well to holding scissors near his face.

Felix doesn’t kiss Dimitri, but he contemplates it. The inane desire to comfort Dimitri and tell him that they aren’t actually pirates rises up in him. It’s ridiculous; officially, they are. The Empire has them branded as such, and he’s sure that there are wanted posters with their faces on them in every port. Pirates. Renegades. Traitors. “You’re still a king,” Felix says instead.

Dimitri walks away and sits down in the solid, sturdy wooden chair at his desk. “Perhaps,” Dimitri agrees. “I have not acted like one as of late.”

Felix drifts after Dimitri, pulled by some sort of invisible tether. “None of us have acted like who we were supposed to be.”

“You never have.” Dimitri’s voice is warm with the memory of a shared childhood. Felix could bask in it like it were a sunbeam, if he were so inclined. 

Felix ghosts his fingers along the back of Dimitri’s neck. Dimitri shivers. Felix pauses, swallows, and tries to collect his thoughts. “How short do you want your hair?”

Dimitri shrugs. “I trust you.”

There is so much history in that statement. Felix doesn’t know how to respond to such devotion. He would fight a million assailants off for Dimitri, but telling him that he trusts him as well? It’s unthinkable.

Instead, he picks up the pair of scissors glinting in the low light. It’s bright enough still that there are no lamps lit in Dimitri’s cabin, and it feels almost more domestic this way. At night, what they do can be a secret. In the naked light of the midday sun, their importance to each other can be seen at a glance.

It’s too intimate, and yet Felix can’t bring himself to leave. He doesn’t even think he wants to anymore.

Dimitri goes still beneath him at the first snip of the scissors, bending his head slightly and letting Felix get to work. Felix wants to resent him or feel some sort of annoyance at being treated like Dimitri’s personal barber, but instead there’s only a vague satisfaction filling his mind. He’s not talented at cutting hair by any means, but if Dimitri wanted his haircut to look polished, he would have asked Mercedes or Ashe. Instead, he’d gone to Felix.

Felix rests his hand on the back of Dimitri’s skull for a moment, pushing his head further down, and Dimitri makes a small sigh at the touch. Felix freezes, his fingers dropping to rest on Dimitri’s neck. Dimitri sounds… relieved. Happy. At ease.

It doesn’t seem right that he should be the cause of such emotions in Dimitri. It feels too easy, after all they have been through. 

Felix draws his hand back and finishes up the hair on the back of Dimitri’s head. “Turn your head,” he says, afraid to put his hands on Dimitri again. Touching Dimitri is a minefield, and it’s one that he isn’t ready to cross right now, no matter how badly he wants to put the scissors down and climb into Dimitri’s lap.

Dimitri listens without speaking, and Felix brushes Dimitri’s hair back from his eye, then kicks himself for the tenderness. This isn’t - he isn’t - this is a favor for Dimitri, nothing more. He’s only doing this so Dimitri doesn’t accidentally stab himself in the neck and drown in his own blood.

Felix finishes up quickly, and then sets the scissors down carefully on the desk. Dimitri looks a little unkempt still, but he looks like himself. His bangs are mostly even and his hair is nearly the same length it was as when they first took to sea, so he’ll count it as a success, all things considered.

“Well? How do I look?”

Felix brushes Dimitri’s bangs out of his eyes again and squints, looking him squarely in the face. Piracy hasn’t been kind to him, exactly, but he looks more like himself than he had before they left Fhirdiad. Unbidden, he thinks that his father would be proud, to see Dimitri looking so happy.

It doesn’t make any of the death worth it, but it soothes the ache somewhat. “What do you want me to say?” he says roughly. “You look like yourself.”

Dimitri smiles, so open and honest that it makes Felix’s heart ache. “Thank you. I worried I didn’t.”

Felix’s mouth twists. He steps closer, and Dimitri spreads his legs to make room for him. This domesticity should turn his stomach, but instead all he does is lean down and press a kiss to Dimitri’s forehead. “I’ll make sure you do.” He hates the honesty, but he hates the way it feels when he refuses to tell Dimitri the truth even more.

Dimitri’s lips part, and an exhale escapes from them. “Felix…”

“Don’t,” Felix bristles. “I sound like you. Foolish and sentimental.”

Dimitri chuckles. “Should I tell you that there’s no place for sentiment on a pirate ship while we’re at it?”

Felix flushes despite himself. “You love sentiment.”

Dimitri gazes up at him. “I do.” There’s unspoken words between them, ones that Felix doesn’t know if he will ever be able to utter.

Felix’s blush deepens. “I have to go. I’m supposed to relieve Annette on deck.”

Dimitri sighs, looking very uncaptainlike. “If you must.”

Felix steps back, prepared to leave Dimitri. The Captain grabs his wrist, holding is gently in his grasp. “Before you go,” he says quietly. 

Felix looks down at him, pressing his lips together. He will never grow used to it. The sentiment, the kindness - it’s too much. He doesn’t know how to cope with it, especially when it feels so underserved. There were so many years when he was so cruel to Dimitri. “Fool,” he whispers, and then bends down and kisses Dimitri.

The strangest thing about being with Dimitri like this is the casual intimacy. Dimitri wants so many forms of affection - goodbye kisses, hello kisses, mornings where Felix tucks himself into Dimitri’s arms and curls up in his embrace. There’s so much affection he may as well as drown in it, but Felix can’t say no to Dimitri, especially not when he’s so hungry for any of Felix’s affections at all.

Dimitri’s mouth is warm and soft against his, and Felix finds himself lingering, leaning into the kiss with an urgency he wishes he could let go. He really does have to leave though, and he pulls reluctantly away after a few minutes. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he grumbles down at Dimitri.

Dimitri brings Felix’s hand to his mouth and kisses his palm. “I’ll see you later.” It’s a promise, one that Felix wishes he weren’t so eager to agree with.

Felix grunts. “Maybe so.” He pulls out of Dimitri’s grasp, but not before running a careful hand through his newly cut hair one last time.

He heads outside of the Captain’s quarters, a small smile lingering on his face. He heads over to Annette, taking over from her with lips still warm from Dimitri’s kiss.

-

“I’m surprised you could forgive him,” Mercedes says mildly. “I didn’t think that you would be able to, just based off of how you were five years ago.”

Felix scowls. “I’ve never had anything to forgive him for.”

“Hmm,” Mercedes goes back to mending the shirt in her hands. It feels like she’s always sewing these days. The rest of them need to get off their asses and learn how to contribute half as much to the ship as she does.

“What?” Felix snaps.

“Nothing,” Mercedes replies, just as aloof as ever. “You’ve grown an awful lot since we first started. Once you told me that Dimitri was nothing more than a beast seeking blood. I’m glad you don’t think that way anymore, is all.”

“You’ve changed too,” Felix says, petulantly. “The girl I met loved the church. I can’t imagine her ever being a pirate.”

Mercedes laughs, like bells or falling stars or something else worthy of being attached to Mercedes von Martritz. “Oh Felix. I can live anywhere or do anything. It’s part of why I’m still alive.”

There’s a terrible resignation to her voice that Felix has never noticed before. How has he never noticed before?

“Whatever,” Felix says. Then, a moment later. “You shouldn’t have to.”

She puts aside the shirt in her lap and rests a hand on his knee. Felix hasn’t had an older sibling in a long time, but perhaps him and Mercedes can project their ghosts onto each other just a little. Felix doesn’t meet her eyes, but he doesn’t push her hand off either, and perhaps that is enough.

-

“His Highness has seemed happier, as of late.” 

Dedue and Felix are stuck on a late watch shift together, and though months ago Felix wouldn’t have been eager to spend time around the man, he now finds himself thankful for Dedue’s quiet presence. He hadn’t understood the man before all of this, but now, he’s grateful to be able to call Dedue a friend. He’s a good man - a better one than Felix.

Felix shrugs, scanning the horizon for any ships or dangerous rocks dotting the water. There’s nothing, just a calm sea and a cloudless night sky. “That’s as much your doing as mine.”

“I do not think it is the doing of any one man,” Dedue says. “Rather, we have the efforts of all of our friends to thank, as well as His Highness’s own drive to improve himself.”

“Yeah.” Felix leans up against one of the masts, pressing his back against the wood and crossing his arms. “I guess so.”

“Are you happy?”

Felix scowls. “What does that matter? Are you?”

Dedue doesn’t seem bothered by the viciousness in his voice, and instead stands at Felix’s side, looking out steadfast at the horizon. Felix knows that there is a similar kind of rage inside Dedue as that which lurks within his own chest constantly, but Dedue has learned how to tamp down on it. Felix doesn’t know if it’s a curse or a blessing, but even so, he wishes he had half the other man’s poise and restraint.

“No.” When Dedue finally speaks, he sounds weary beyond his years, as though he’s allowed some of the facade to part before Felix. “I’m not.”

Felix tips his head back to look at the stars. “I think I’m as happy as I can be here. It feels wrong. To be able to find a measure of happiness out here.”

“It does,” Dedue agrees. “Perhaps that is the root of my own struggle to be happy. I feel as if I do not deserve it.”

Felix’s gaze darts over to look at Dedue. “That’s stupid. You’ve gone through enough shit for Faerghus. If anyone should be happy, it’s you.”

Dedue laughs softly. “I was not expecting you to say that. And you misunderstand. I do not go through anything for Faerghus. I go through it for His Highness.”

“He’s not a king anymore,” Felix says, just to be contrary. “If you have to call him a title, he’s our captain.”

“You and I both know that he will always be a king,” Dedue replies.

Felix shifts his gaze back to the horizon and nods tightly. “I know.”

“You go through much for him as well,” Dedue says, almost softly, as though it’s some sort of secret.

Felix shrugs. “I don’t see how that matters. We all do.”

“Regardless,” Dedue continues. “I am glad that at least someone is happy. And I am glad that you and His Highness have found happiness together.”

It doesn't sit right with Felix, this gratitude. Felix has never deserved happiness, or at the very least never had it taken from him quite as relentlessly as Dedue. “You should be happy too,” he says. The moon reflects off the water, shining pearlescent off of it. It’s beautiful out at sea in a way that Faerghus never is. Dangerous too, of course, but all danger is beautiful. The sound of a canon firing has taught him that well enough.

Dedue sighs. “Perhaps, in time.”

What has Dimitri done to him, that he wants so badly for the rest of the ship’s crew to be content and to find some measure of joy? “You know this won’t last,” he says. “Dimitri will take back Faerghus soon. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try.”

Another sigh from Dedue. “I know. That is what worries me.”

Felix uncrosses his arms. “Yeah. Me too.” He pauses, listening to the waves lapping against the wide of the ship. If he closed his eyes, he could be back at the docks at home, listening to the sounds of the ocean and ignoring his father. Instead, he will never have the luxury of pushing Rodrigue away again. “We’ll keep him alive,” Felix says, confident in his ability to at least do this one thing. Even when he hated Dimitri, or tried to hate Dimitri, he made sure that Dimitri was alive.

“Yes,” Dedue agrees. “We’ll keep him alive, and happy.”

“And happy,” Felix repeats. He pushes himself off the mast he’s leaning against, scowling up at Dedue. “And you too. He won’t know peace until everyone does, and that includes you.”

Dedue looks down at him, a small twitch of his mouth the only sign of his emotion. “You are a strange man, Felix. But yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Felix nods firmly, then heads over to the forecastle to look ahead of them. They can talk about this more another night. For now, he needs time to himself, to think about the possibility of this happiness being a permanent thing.

-

The next ship they take is valuable for more than just cargo. There’s a newspaper aboard, one that’s only a few weeks old at that. The seven of them crowd around it on the main deck as they sail away, looking over each other’s shoulders and elbowing each other like children. Felix is just as eager, although he hadn’t realized how much he wanted news of home until the newspaper was laid out in front of them like some grand prophecy.

“I can’t see!” Annette cries, from her position at the back of the pack. She’s the shortest by a landslide, and also the least willing to elbow people out of the way, which has been Ingrid’s main strategy. 

Dedue sighs and whisks the newspaper out of Ashe’s hands, ignoring his cry of protest and holding it up so that he can read it. “Occupation in Fhirdiad continues,” he quotes. “Despite pressure from Emperor Edelgard, Claude von Reigan and the Leicester Alliance have not folded or ceded their position.”

He lowers the newspaper. “There is more, but that seems to be the most important news.”

Dimitri sighs. “So Claude still lives.”

“And he’s refusing to bend to Edelgard,” Ingrid replies.

The seven of them stand in silence for a long time, before Sylvain finally speaks up. “Do you think he’d help us?”

Dedue straightens as though a bolt of lightning has struck him. “Yes. Claude does not care for the order of things, but he doesn’t wish for blood the way Edelgard does.”

Ingrid presses her shoulder against Felix’s. “We could go home,” she whispers, her eyes shining.

_Home._ The word ripples through them, stirring their hearts and catching in Felix’s throat. It’s too big of a promise. What is a home, anyways, when they’ve been at sea for six months and the only thing that Felix knows anymore is the sound of the ocean?

His father is dead. Fhirdiad is surely unfathomably changed by Edelgard. Nothing will ever be the same again. How is it still home?

“You shouldn’t get your hopes up,” Felix says, voice rough. “Nothing is certain.”

“No,” Ashe agrees. “But still, there’s nothing wrong with a little hope.”

There’s more bite to Ashe’s words than Felix had expected, and Felix angles his gaze away, focusing on the sea. He can’t be here. He needs to be anywhere else, but there is, of course, nowhere else to go.

He turns and walks away, stalking below deck to stew in peace. He’s been doing fine, he’s been thriving, but something about the possibility of going back to Fhirdiad turns his stomach. Was his father even given death rites? In Faerghus, they burn their dead. The ground is too frozen for much else. There’s funeral shrouds and ceremony, and as meaningless as Felix finds it all, the thought of his father being given anything else makes him feel sick. Perhaps they through him in an unmarked grave, left to rot.

He should have been there. He shouldn’t have left, so eager to flee after Dimitri and leave his father behind.

What would Glenn have done? Would he have abandoned their father for Dimitri so easily?

He’ll never know. All that he’s left with is what he’ll do. Felix paces the length of the sleeping quarters until one of the men kicks him out for disrupting their rest, then heads back up to the main deck, a knot of fear and rage still tangled in his chest.

“Well?” he asks his stupid, foolish friends. They’re all still crowded around the newspaper like it’s a blessing from Sothis herself. Fools. “What’s the plan?”

Annette looks up, eyes shining. “We’re discussing ways we could leverage the Empire and the Alliance against each other.”

Felix sighs. “We should at least go sit below deck. We’re in the way of people actually trying to get things done.”

Dimitri looks somewhat sheepish, but nods along with Felix. “Ah. Yes. We should head downstairs, and discuss our plans.”

Sylvain smiles crookedly. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Felix lingers at the back of the group as they head below deck, keeping an eye on them all they stomp down the stairs. He knows the answer to the question he’d asked himself earlier, even if he’d been unwilling to admit it. It doesn’t matter what Glenn would have done. What matters is that Felix isn’t going to leave anyone behind ever again. He’ll keep them all safe, no matter what.


	5. Chapter 5

The sea air feels lighter after the news about the Alliance. Everyone walks with a softer step. Annette has started singing while she works again.

For the first time since they fled Fhirdiad, they feel hopeful again.

Even without concrete plans in place, there’s a whisper of the thought of the war ending. There’s a chance that they could go home, that they could leave behind the sea.

Felix thinks they’re all fools. They’ve been at sea for too long. They’ll never be able to leave it behind so succinctly. This isn’t a chapter in a book that they’ll be able to close and look back on only as a distant memory. They’ve killed a lot of people, and a lot of people that didn’t necessarily deserve it. They’ve stolen, they’ve lied, they’ve murdered.

He understands Dimitri more than he ever thought he could.

-

Felix has taken to volunteering for nightwatch more often than not. He likes the silence and simplicity it brings. He sits on one of the barrels near the bow of the ship, making sure there’s nothing coming that could hurt them. His legs are curled to his chest and his arms are wrapped tight around them. Not the most battle-ready posture perhaps, but certainly the most comfortable. After all, there’s peace to be found among the waves, with the stars shining above and the sounds of the ocean calling. It could kill them, of course, but still. It brings Felix peace.

He grew up knowing that someday he would be asked to die for his country. The sea is just one more thing that can kill him. It doesn’t scare him.

“Felix.” Dimitri’s voice startles him out of his reverie.

Felix flinches, one hand going to the hilt of his sword. “Captain.”

Dimitri comes up behind him, and Felix uncurls his legs from his chest, dropping his feet to the ground with a thud. “What are you doing up?” Felix asks.

Dimitri rests a hand on his shoulder. “Just a nightmare. Nothing unusual.” Felix relaxes into Dimitri’s touch, leaning backwards into the warmth behind him. Dimitri chuckles as Felix’s back comes to rest against his stomach. “I thought I would come and check on you, since I already can’t sleep.”

“Hmph,” Felix replies. “A captain needs his rest.”

“Maybe so,” Dimitri agrees. “But a captain needs peace of mind too.”

Thankfully, Dimitri can’t see the way his expression sours. “What’s troubling you?”

A long pause. The waves lap against the side of the ship. “What if I can’t do it?” Dimitri asks. For a moment, he sounds nothing like the man whose bed Felix falls into more nights than not, or the dreaded pirate captain this exile has turned him into. He sounds like Felix’s friend, like the little boy he’d worshipped as a child and spent ages following around.

He sounds scared.

“Of course you can,” Felix snaps. He grimaces. Even when he’s trying to be kind, his words come out with sharp, hungry teeth. Someday he’ll learn the trick to tempering his tongue. “You’ve been preparing all your life to be king. You were king during the war, and you can be a king in times of peace.” He sets his jaw and tips his head back so that he can look at Dimitri’s face. “You haven’t changed so much. I still recognize you.”

Dimitri’s face softens. “Will you still, even when I retake the crown?”

Felix closes his eyes. He doesn’t need to see Dimitri to know what he looks like. “Yes,” he whispers.

Dimitri moves, so suddenly that Felix almost falls backwards off the barrel. He catches himself, just barely, and is about to scold Dimitri when the other man kneels down in front of him instead. “Felix,” Dimitri whispers, bringing his hands up to rest them on Felix’s legs.

Felix flushes and looks down at Dimitri. “What are you doing?”

“Felix,” Dimitri says again. “I would never presume anything. I wish to have you by my side for as long as you’ll have me. If - when - we retake Fhirdiad, and head back home, will you stay with me?”

Felix’s face burns. “You’re a fool,” he says, resting a hand on Dimitri’s cheek. “I can’t believe you thought you even had to ask.”

Dimitri’s eye goes wide. “I - truly? Felix, do you mean it?”

“Like I said,” Felix repeats, ignoring the steady pounding of his heart. “You didn’t even have to ask.” He leans down and presses his lips to Dimitri’s temple. “I’m not leaving you.”

Dimitri takes a shaky breath, and reaches up to grasp the ties of his eyepatch.

Felix grabs his wrist. “What are you doing.”

“I want you to see,” Dimitri says stubbornly. “Mercedes and Dedue are the only ones among you who have seen it. I want you to see.”

Felix’s chest tightens. He doesn’t know how to hold a feeling this big. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Dimitri insists. “You’ve seen every other part of me. It seems only right that you see this too.”

“Okay,” Felix whispers, holding Dimitri’s head in his hands, delicately as though it might break. It’s like holding a sword, he thinks to himself, completely irrationally. Firm enough so that you don’t lose your grip, but gentle enough so as not to strain your wrist. Dimitri has never felt so delicate to touch before.

Dimitri smiles, then reaches up to remove his eyepatch. It falls to the ground as he unties it, landing on the deck of the ship. There’s a large, mangled scar over his eye socket, and a single, milky white eye that sees nothing at all.

More importantly, Dimitri is shaking. Felix swallows. “Mitya,” he says quietly. “I’m here.”

Dimitri’s eye darts up and gazes at him, wide and frightened. There’s tears pooling there, and Felix wipes the corner of Dimitri’s eye gently with his thumb. “It’s okay.”

The king of Faerghus trembles underneath his touch. Felix stands, sinking to the deck to be with Dimitri. “I’m here,” he says again, setting his hands firmly on Dimitri’s shoulders.

Dimitri collapses forward, burying his head in the junction of Felix’s neck and shoulder. Felix freezes, then wraps his arms around Dimitri, holding him close. Dimitri doesn’t cry, but he shudders in Felix’s arms for several long minutes, and when he finally sits up, his good eye is bloodshot. “Felix,” he says wetly. “I apologize for my lack of decorum. I am-”

Felix kisses him. They’ve kissed plenty of times by now, of course. He’s had Dimitri in every way he could want him, and then some, but this feels different. It feels like a promise. It feels like the future.

“I love you,” Felix says, firm and like he’s swearing an oath. “I’m not going to leave you. Where you go, so do I. If that means staying in Fhirdiad, then I’ll be at your side once we retake it.”

Dimitri’s breath hitches. “Felix.” He presses his forehead against Felix’s. “I love you too. You must know that.”

Felix smiles and stands, pulling Dimitri to his feet. “Yeah. I do.” He stretches upwards and kisses Dimitri once more, just because he can. “Now go back to bed. I’ll join you when my shift is over.”

Dimitri nods, then pecks Felix on the cheek. “Of course.” He stoops down to pick up his eyepatch, but doesn’t put it back on. He turns to walk away, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder back at Felix. “Thank you.”

Felix turns back towards the horizon. “Of course.”

-

The announcement comes in the morning. Dimitri climbs up the rigging and looks down at all of them, clustered on the deck of the ship. Felix is a child again, playing in the courtyard of Castle Fhirdiad and pretending at being a soldier.

There’s no pretending anymore.

“By now,” Dimitri says, “you must have heard tell that the war is not yet over. The Alliance still stands strong.” He looks off to the side, the jut of his profile sharp in the morning sun. Felix traces the curve of his nose with his eyes and finds nothing wanting. He means his words. “We could join them. We will join them.”

As if the world is agreeing with Dimitri and any of their foolish childhood lessons about the divine right of kings had some merit, a breeze stirs through the air, tousling his hair and billowing his coat out behind him.

Like this, there is no questioning if he deserves to be a king or not.

“There are not many of us,” Dimitri admits. “But we are strong. We can fight. Edelgard thinks we are defeated. She thinks us like beaten dogs, cowering with our tails between our legs.”

“We are not beaten,” Dimitri continues. “We are not afraid, and we will not run again. We will sail to the Alliance and offer aid in their war efforts, and we will retake our home.”

There isn’t quite enough force behind his words for it to be a war cry, but Felix finds himself lifting his chin and straightening his spine anyways. At his side, Ingrid does the same. “Long live the king,” she says, just loud enough to be heard above the whipping of the wind.

Felix swallows. He looks up and meets Dimitri’s gaze. “Long live the king,” he repeats.

The words spread through the ship like a plague, festering under all their skin and swelling their hearts. It’s too much, but Felix doesn’t turn away from the feeling anymore. Maybe it’s good, that there are things too big for his body to hold. Perhaps he should hold such feelings close, and approach them head on.

“Long live the king!” The cry rises up from the deck of _The Areadbhar,_ and Dimitri flushes.

“I’m not a king,” Dimitri says. “Right now, I’m nothing but your captain.” He turns to the side again, looking towards where Felix knows the Alliance lies. “Someday soon, I hope to be worthy of such a title.”

He jumps down from the rigging in a smooth motion, landing on the deck with a heavy thump. He smiles, no longer a pirate captain or a dethroned king, but the man Felix has loved for his whole life.

They’re all just men. Even Edelgard, locked in Fhirdiad and doing who knows what, is just a person, living as best she can.

Felix takes a deep breath and strides forward, moving between the crew and standing at Dimitri’s side. “I’m with you,” he says firmly, taking his hand.

Dimitri squeezes his hand. “And I with you.” He looks out at the crew again, beaming. “It will not be an easy journey, to get back what we have lost. Our numbers are small. Our prospects are dim. But we are from Faerghus, and we do not give in easily. We will take back what is ours.”

This time, the words stick.

No one speaks, but there is nothing left to say. They will survive. They will move forward, and they will retake their homes. All will come to pass, and all that they have suffered will not be naught. 

-

“I thought for a long time I would have to choose,” Dimitri says, later. He’s on his side, looking into Felix’s eyes like they’re the only thing that exists. It doesn’t seem real, when he thinks about it. Dimitri could hold the whole world in his hands if he wanted, but instead the only thing he seems to have eyes for is Felix.

“What do you mean?”

Dimitri scoots closer to Felix, the sun falling across his face like some painting. His tiny, cramped bed doesn’t have enough room for the two of them to comfortably lay next to each other, so instead they’re curled towards each other with only a few inches between their faces. Dimitri’s legs are tangled with Felix, and the memory feels sun-soaked even while he’s in it. It’s warm, and he’s safe, and perhaps there is a way through this after all.

“It seemed as though I would have to chose between two impossible things,” Dimitri says slowly. “You or the Kingdom. The captaincy or my friends. Success or failure.”

“You wouldn’t choose me over the Kingdom,” Felix snaps. He’s not a fool. No matter what soft tender thing lies between them, Dimitri is a product of Faerghus, and Faerghus cares for nothing but duty. Dimitri would take the crown even if it would be the death of him.

Dimitri takes Felix’s hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing the back of it. “No. I wouldn’t. But I would want to.”

Felix’s heart, the stupid thing, skips at the thought regardless. He would like to say that he’d let the whole Kingdom burn for Dimitri in a heartbeat, but he doesn't know if he would mean it. Such a promise would require an unforgivable number of deaths in order to be fulfilled.

“What were you saying?” he prompts, pulling his hand away from Dimitri and curling it under his head.

Dimitri shifts, his leg sliding more firmly over where it’s been thrown over both of Felix’s. His legs are sandwiched between Dimitri’s, the heavy weight of him reassuring more than anything else. “We’re going to reach the Northernmost point of the Alliance in a few day’s time. Claude will lend us aid; I am sure of it. The war is not yet over in Alliance territory.”

Felix grunts.

Dimitri smiles, undaunted by his lack of reaction. “We will head home to Fhirdiad, and free our people from Edelgard’s rule. I will extend my hand to her, and even if she turns me away, I will protect the people I care for.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Felix protests.

Dimitri hums. “No, I suppose you don’t. But all the same, I will be happiest by your side.” He runs a thumb along Felix’s cheekbone. “When we first left Fhirdiad, I thought it would be forever. I thought it would hang over our heads for the rest of our lives.”

“It will,” Felix retorts, unable to resist being contrary. He’s right, after all. They’ve killed a lot of people, and piracy is not so easy to justify to oneself as war. Faerghus trains its children for war, after all. Piracy is another beast. Piracy is what killed the late king and Glenn, if you believe the version passed around the populace.

Dimitri sighs. “It will, but it will not be the death of us. We will always have been pirates, but we will live with what we had to do to survive. The world we build will be better for it.”

Felix’s face warms. He keeps expecting Dimitri’s ideals to collapse in on themself, but instead they seem only to become stronger. “Your idealism will be the death of you,” he says gravely.

Dimitri laughs and closes the distance between them to kiss him. “That is what I have you for then, isn’t it?” he asks softly, pressing his forehead against Felix’s.

Felix gives in to the sunshine and the warmth of Dimitri’s smile. “Always,” he whispers, and then leans forward to kiss Dimitri again.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter @edelgardlesbian!


End file.
